Four Walking Disasters
by Adamant39
Summary: So apparently the Dragonborn has returned, and is fighting for the fate of the world. Good for them. Because while that's going on we've got a kid lying his way into school, a woman with some bodily issues, an Orc trying not to get attached to her assassination target, and a cat who's really just here to cut hair. Not the people you'd ideally entrust the fate of Skyrim to, huh?
1. Issues Settling In

**My Promises:**

**1: I'm not describing Helgen. You've read it fifty times and played it five hundred, at least, and having the POV character have slightly unique thoughts isn't gonna make that fun to read.**

**2: I'm not describing a dungeon crawl bit by bit. You've all been through them, you know how they work.**

**3: I'm not lazily copying speeches of in-game dialogue. If my characters aren't interesting enough to interact differently, I'm not doing my job right.**

**4: ****You'll have a fight in chapter one, a Daedra by chapter four, and a heist by chapter five.**

**5: The first 'arc' is already written, and will be uploaded weekly, so you don't have to worry about this cutting off with no closure.**

**If that catches your interest, hi! Scroll down and have fun. If you've clicked, then I hope you're at least interested enough to read this first chapter. Lets see how good I am at writing hooks...**

**The following is an idea that I couldn't get out of my head and, well, where else do things like that go but here? This fic is partially based on the work of youtuber Space Queen, who does ASMR roleplays. The character L'laarzen is literally hers, and I'd highly recommend you go check her out if you like a certain Khajiit who's about to show up. The others are my OCs, but imma just throw up a blanket 'I own nothing, use anything, I don't mind' sign, so go have fun. **

**Now, with the minutia sorted...**

* * *

**Four Walking Disasters**

**Act I: What Do You Want?**

**Issues Settling In**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjarnagredda only wanted one thing; her people back.

A few years ago her desire had been different; she'd wanted strength, plain and simple. It was still a niggling concern in the back of her mind, as her lungs burned from the simple act of climbing up Markarth's front steps and her legs ached from the short trek from her latest campsite. But no, she'd learned to temper those aspirations some years ago.

Learned the hard way.

Her present goal was what had brought her back to the Reach, after years roaming the denser forests of Falkreath hold. Though now, as she pushed open the large Dwarven doors, she was struck by the doubts that had plagued her the whole trip. Would her people remember her? Would they not? Which was _worse_?

Shaking her head, she entered the city, immediately finding herself facing a pleasant looking market.

A market in which a man had just pulled a knife.

_For the love of Talos_\- She was moving before the curse had fully formed in her mind, drawing her simple iron mace from where it hung at her hip and charging in with an overhead swing.

The man had just grabbed some poor woman about the throat when Hjar's weapon crashed into his right arm, snapping it at an odd angle. He cursed and dropped the knife, but spun in place, letting go of his first target to backhand Hjar across the face.

She stumbled backwards, swinging the mace again blindly, but he swerved out of range and then ran in again, tackling her about the midriff. She heaved, but her legs gave almost immediately and he slammed her to the ground. She punched him, but he shook it off, grabbing her by the throat and wresting her mace from her hand. His arm was clearly broken, but he had enough control over it to raise it over his head, hate on his face.

"Damn invaders!" He shouted. "Skyrim belongs to the-"

And then he was impaled by a Markarth city guard.

Hjar scrambled backwards and back up to her feet as the man was bodily carried backwards. The guard brutally twisted the blade and shoved, and the man was dead before he hit the ground. Breathing heavily, Hjar stood up, and looked off to the woman who'd been attacked. "You alright?" She ground out.

"I'm...I'm fine." The woman shook her head. "By the Gods, that man nearly killed me!"

"Calm down!" The guard was shouting. "There are no Forsworn here! Everyone go about your business!"

Hjal frowned and looked at the woman. "Forsworn? What?"

As they spoke, the crowd that had formed was dispersing, and the guards were grabbing the body and preparing to move it. The woman made a funny face. "Well...That's the thing. Nobody wants to talk about it, but from what I've heard, Forsworn like him have been making attacks like this for a few months now."

"Oh." Hjar gulped. She wasn't sure what to say to that. What could she say, when the Forsworn were the exact people she'd arrived here to find?

_Great job. If there's a worse way to introduce yourself to your family than _murdering _one of your brothers, I sure as Oblivion don't know it._

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza only wanted one thing; to kill the Jarl of Solitude.

This was not a final goal, nor even an imminent one, but it was in just the sweet spot of being something she could focus on completely.

Take a fight, for example. Your short term goal is to land the next blow, and your long term goal is to take over the hostile Orichalcum mine, but your mind should always be focused on the death of your opponent. That was a lesson her father, Chief Larak, had taught her himself, and one she had always kept to heart.

So, kill Elisif the Fair. The long term goal was to crush the Thalmor and Imperial presence in Skyrim, restoring the Orc tribes to their original independence and glory, but to _begin_ that, Dulurza had been tasked to gain the trust of the Jarl of Solitude, draw her out of safety, and crush her skull, with a possible side objective of hurling her severed head over the battlements. Before that was her short term objective, gaining trust. Which was why she was stood, arms crossed, in front of Falk Firebeard, trying not to roll her eyes. "Ghosts." She deadpanned.

"Not ghosts." He replied, raising his arms placatingly. He was clearly just as embarrassed about the request. "The people come to assumptions about things like that all the time. All we know is that there's been strange lights and disappearances near Wolfskull cave. Could just as easily be bandits, crazy mages or nothing at all. But I'd pay you if you took care of it."

Dulurza looked down at him, (not because of any disrespect, she was just six foot eight) and nodded. "Alright. I'll scout the cave, see what I find."

"Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to the court." Fall gave her a curt nod and walked away, using one of the side doors to slip back into the Blue Palace.

Off to one side, the executioner Ahtar pushed himself off one of the walls. "Alright then, missy. One meeting with the Jarl's advisor; that was your price, right?"

"That it was. Thanks." Dulurza reached across to him and they clasped forearms. "I doubt an Orc would have been readily invited into the Jarl's presence unannounced."

"Heh. You're right there." He looked over her dark green skin. She wasn't too pleased with where his eyes lingered, but she held her tongue.

"And thank you for helping me with that escaped prisoner. Sybille might have had my head if I'd let them get away with it."

She tilted her head. "Sybille? Not Falk or Tullius?"

"Nah, those two are much too important to care about one prisoner. But Sybille Stentor is the court wizard, and she pays a lot of attention to the prisoners. Takes one out every month or so to 'volunteer' for her experiments." He cracked a dark grin. "Word of warning, since we're friends and all. Whatever you're planning on doing in the palace, it better not piss her off."

And wasn't that suspicious? "I'll keep it in mind." She turned away, then paused, looking back at his weapon. It was well maintained, and it had cut through the poor nord Rog-something's neck cleanly. "I'll fight you for that axe."

"Not on your life! Now go kill some ghosts and stop bothering me."

Dulurza snorted and began walking again. "Sure. As if it's gonna be ghosts."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander only wanted one thing; to become a God.

He didn't think that was too much to ask. There were plenty of Gods already and most of them didn't even have much of a purpose. All he really needed to get there was the whole 'unlimited power and immortality' thing, but he figured that couldn't be _so_ hard. Hence why he was here. Fixing a confident smile on his face, he walked up to the bridge leading to the college of Winterhold.

"Halt!" Called an Elven woman, approaching out of the snowstorm and barring his entry. "Cross this bridge at your own peril! The gates will not open, you will not gain entry!"

"Ah, gates that will not open." He nodded safely, stroking his beard. Well, it wasn't really a beard, more a stubble of coarse dark hair, but it would be one eventually and that was what counted. "Locked perhaps with magical energy, like the tombs of Mar'Shinneh?"

"No. Locked with a lock." She deadpanned.

"Ah."

"The type that requires a key."

"No, I understand."

She crossed her arms and looked him over, taking in his robes, his Imperial heritage, and the staff on his back. "Though I am impressed by your knowledge of obscure legends. I'd only heard of those tombs from Tolfdir, that old rambler...I take it you know full well where you are?"

"Of course." Alexander demurred. "This is the College of Winterhold. The greatest college of magic in all of Skyrim."

"Greatest and _only_."

"Well yes, but if it's the _only_ college then being the greatest doesn't really...mean...anything..." she was giving him a look. _Shut up, moron. _He coughed. "I have come here in search of knowledge. To further my understanding of magic and the realms beyond our own."

"Is that so?" The Elf smiled, finally. "The College certainly holds what you seek. But before I invite you inside, I must first burden you with a small test. We can't accept just anyone, you understand."

Alexander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "Come now. I think we both know I'm above this 'test.'" _Nailed it._

"No, I'm afraid I don't know anything of the sort."

_Urk_.

The woman gestured at a large symbol inlaid on the floor. "Are you familiar with the basic 'fury' spell? If so, cast it on the sigil here."

_Very well, emergency plan A. _Alexander waved one hand graciously. "I'm afraid that Illusion is not my area of expertise. I specialise in Conjuration, if I may demonstrate?"

"Hm...very well. But we both realise that using that staff of yours would not constitute a real show of magic."

"Oh, of course." He fiddled with his right bracer for a moment, before flexing his arms in front of himself. "Observe."

A sphere of purple light blossomed in his palm. Then he thrust his arm outwards, and a portal appeared atop the sigil. Emerging from that portal was a collection of stones, floating in the air, lightning sparking between each one with a swirl of wind at its base.

"A Storm Atronach..." the woman gaped. "That's an Expert level spell!"

"It is." He replied, slightly smugly.

"Well, I apologise for my earlier doubts." She turned to him and held her hand out. "My name is Faralda. I think you will be a superb addition to the college."

"My name is Alexander." He replied, shaking it. "I'm happy to be here."

Faralda turned and led the way across the bridge. While she wasn't looking, Alex took the opportunity to reach his right arm over the edge and twist his wrist in just the right way. A small cloud of ash, ash that had once been a 'Scroll of Conjure Storm Atronach', fell from the bracer and was swept away in the wind.

It had taken him weeks to build that bracer, weeks to practice using a concealed scroll in a way that made it _look_ like he'd cast the spell himself, and a hefty pile of gold to purchase a scroll he'd thought was impressive enough. That had been his only one. But now he was in, into the college, where he just knew his future lie in wait for him.

It was hard, the road to Godhood.

Even harder when you had the Magicka capacity of an Orc teenager, and the magical talent of an average Winterhold resident.

Whistling cheerfully, he followed Faralda across the bridge.

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen only wanted one thing; to open a luxury haircutting and fur styling parlour.

"And that is why L'laarzen's dream is to open up a luxury haircutting and fur styling parlour!" She said, enthusiastically.

"That so, lass?" Chuckled Brynjolf. He shifted in position slightly on the chair, hand steadying himself on her hip, and she stopped for a moment to let him. Around them, Riften's market bustled. The fish merchant sold fish, the armour merchant sold armour, and the meat merchant was stealing a ring from the jewellery merchant and attempting to put it in the pawnbroker's pocket. Good times.

"Indeed. L'laarzen has so far been doing as she does now; carrying her life in a bag and peddling her skills across Tamriel." She continued with her work, snipping deftly at the more chaotic strands of her subject's hair. "But, many do not like having such a private ceremony done in such an open area such as this, (the Mer especially), and there is more risk than Khajiit would like travelling Mundus. That is why Khajiit came to Riften; there was word that a house could be bought relatively cheaply here! Unfortunately, eight thousand Septims is still far outside L'laarzen's budget. Excuse me..." she leaned forwards and made a particularly risky cut towards Brynjolf's beard, healing it over with a flash of restoration magic.

"You know lass, if it's gold your looking for, there are quite a few opportunities for it in Riften if you know the right people to talk to." Brynjolf leaned up to meet her eyes.

"Oh?" She smiled, warmly. "Does this one perhaps mean opportunities of a...legally dubious, nature?"

"Now, what makes you think that?"

"Well, the fact that you have tried to steal L'laarzen's coin purse, comb, and necklace already throughout the course of your cut."

Brynjolf's face fell, and his hand went to his pockets, but she laughed easily. "Do not worry, friend. L'larzen has reclaimed what was hers, but has not stolen anything of yours. Khajiit has a rule not to harm or steal from a paying customer."

Brynjolf chuckled, relaxing back into the haircut. "Well, colour me impressed lass. There aren't many who can find their way into my pockets without getting caught. Do you have practice with this sort of thing?"

L'laarzen coughed. "Well, not everyone is a paying customer, and not everyone is a friend. And fingers that are deft at cutting hair are also skilled at cutting purses and picking locks."

"Fancy putting those skills to use?" Brynjolf asked, a little quieter than before.

She paused again. "...L'laarzen does not wish to become a _criminal_, friend. Enough of that trouble was had in Morrowind, in her early years. Laws are often unfair, and malleable, and Khajiit does not mind skirting them, but will not harm those who have done no wrong for personal gain."

Brynjolf chuckled again. "I show up to assess a new visitor, maybe make some quick coin while I'm at it, and here I am getting my hair cut by a pickpocket with a conscience. Well, given our luck, I can't say I'm surprised. Tell you what, lass. My organisation works with a lot of powerful people. Influential people; the kind who care a lot about their appearance. Put some work in for us, nothing too dirty, don't worry, and I'll get you into a room with them. How'd you like to ply your trade for a member of the Black-Briar family? Or even for the Jarl?"

L'laarzen paused. Smiled.

With a few last snips, she finished her task and brushed the excess off the back of his clothes. "There, that should do it. You like?"

She held up a hand mirror, and he took a look at his reflection. "Aye. Pretty good work."

"The best in Tamriel." She brushed some of her own dark grey fur out of her golden eyes. "So, perhaps as payment, the friend can tell L'laarzen where his organisation works from?"

* * *

**And there they are. An array of races, an array of intentions, and an array of mischief being encountered already. Where each character will be going from here might be obvious simply from the city they're in, but I promise to try and put an original twist on familiar guilds and quests. You'll also notice I followed the maxim of 'when in doubt, Capitalise Everything that Might Be a Proper Noun.' Is it elves or Elves? Who knows; I'm erring on the safe side.**

**Next chapter: Someone moans in joy, someone gets called out, and someone gets a free drink.**


	2. Making Friends

**Making Friends**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza's axe crunched into the skull of another draugr and cleaved straight through into its ribcage. The light in its eyes died, and she shoved one foot forwards to kick it off her weapon. _Undead. Nasty. _Walking forwards, she emerged into a cavern. Central in that cavern was a tall stone tower, and floating above the tower was a glowing blue sphere.

"Potema! We summon you, Wolf Queen!" Chanted a chorus of Men and Mer in black robes.

"You gotta be kidding me." Dulurza grunted. "It's ghosts."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander was suitably impressed by the glory of the college of Winterhold, walking into the courtyard and seeing the statue of the great Shalidor himself stood central and proud.

_Oh, this is definitely the right place._

"May I remind you that your position with the Thalmor means nothing at all to us." Snapped a woman (Breton, maybe?) to an Altmer, outside a large pair of double doors. "You are a guest, here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage. Do not overstep your boundaries."

Alexander had to resist gulping, this girl was scaring him already.

"Of course. My apologies." The elf bowed shallowly to her, then walked away. He passed Alexander and gave him a vicious glare as Faralda brought him up to the woman.

"Do stop taking your frustrations out on Ancano, Mirabelle. Anyway, I have a new initiate who's here to join the college." Faralda stooped in close and whispered "he conjured a _storm_ Atronach." Before patting her on the shoulder and leaving.

"Is that so?" Mirabelle turned too give Alexander a once-over. "Well then, welcome to the college, initiate. My name is Mirabelle Ervine. I run all aspects of the institution that the Arch-Mage is too busy to."

_This is the one to schmooze up to, got it. _"A pleasure to meet you, Ms Ervine." Xander reached out and shook her hand.

"Hm." She might have smiled, but the wind was blowing and he was squinting so he couldn't quite tell. "Quite. At present, Tolfdir is running a class in the Hall of the Elements. You will find your fellow apprentices there." She glanced up and down his form. "I would ordinarily provide you with some simple Novice robes, but I see you're already equipped with Adept garb, so I won't bother."

Xander's smile froze.

"Oh." He said. "That won't, uh, by which I mean, I would be perfectly happy to wear Novice clothing, I wouldn't want to give myself an unfair advantage over the other students-"

"Nonsense." She chuckled. "I appreciate your humility, but I wouldn't want to limit your progress for the sake of 'fairness'. And anyway, the robes don't make the mage. I doubt you were able to impress Faralda with nothing but powerful magical equipment?"

Xander gave a laugh that sounded a lot like a whimper. "Yes. Of course. I'll go to the hall, then. Thank you for your time."

'_Oh, let's make sure we look the part.' You thought. 'Let's buy some impressive looking wizard clothes from Radiant Raiment' you thought. 'Don't worry that they don't sell enchanted robes, you'll get some real ones once you're there!'_

_HoW diD ThAt oNE GO, hUh XANDER?_

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"So, can I buy you a drink?"

"Oh no, I-"

"Come on. You saved my _life_. At least let me give you this."

Sighing, Hjarnagredda relented, letting the Nord woman walk over to the bar and order for them. The Silver-Blood inn was a nice enough place, she supposed, built into the Dwemer architecture but with all sorts of simple Nord furniture everywhere. _Classic example of the Nords taking what isn't theirs_, part of her brain thought, but she admitted to herself that was unfair. No Man or Mer could claim ownership of the Dwarves' leftovers. Well, maybe the Falmer could, but they weren't in much of a position to sign the paperwork.

The woman came back, putting two mugs of mead on the table, and Hjar accepted hers with a thanks.

"So, in all that chaos, I never actually got your name. I'm Margret, by the way." Said the redhead. Hjar was jealous of that hair. Her own was pale blond, almost white, bleached from too long in the sun. Not to mention it was far too tangled to get it into any sort of style; she'd planned to put it in a traditional Reachman mohawk but had never been able to. Gods, how long had it been since she'd washed it? Margret, on the other hand, had managed to get hers into an elegant sort of-

And Margret was tilting her head, and Hjar realised she'd been staring.

"Sorry." She shook her head, blushing. "I'm Hjar."

"Hyaa?" Margret looked skeptical. "Like, an angry shout?"

"Hjarnagredda." Hjar admitted, wincing. "It's a traditional name, but it's _so_ long."

That got a chuckle out of Margret. "Fair enough. So, Hjar, what brings you to Markarth? I gotta admit, I've been trying to size you up but I have no idea who or what you are."

Hjar blushed again. The confusion was understandable. Not many people walked around wearing what could be charitably described as miner's clothes, except torn up to reveal most of her arms, legs, and midriff (she was a Forsworn, dammit, even if she didn't have the official gear.)

"I'm...I suppose you would call me an adventurer." She replied. "I've spent most of the last five years in the wilds between here and Falkreath. I came to Markarth to look for my family. What about you?"

"Me?" Hjar noticed Margret fidgeting. "Oh, I'm just here visiting from Cyrodil. I was buying some jewellery for my sister back home."

Hjar could _smell_ the lie. "Uh huh." She leaned back in her chair taking a sip from her drink. "You, a Nord, live in Cyrodil, and you came all the way to Skyrim and decided to buy your sister _Markarth_ jewellery? The silver here isn't _that _famous."

Margret made a confused face for a second, before sighing and dropping it. "Damn. I must be losing my touch."

"So?" Hjar tried not to look smug.

Margret lowered her voice and leaned in over the table. "I'm...well, I'm a spy. I work for General Tullius and the Imperial legion."

Hjar's fists tightened on her lap. "A spy? Who are you spying on?"

"I'm looking into the Silver-Bloods." Margret replied, pointing. One of the family, Hjar wasn't sure which one, was laughing with a group of friends a few tables down. "You heard of them?"

"Oh I've heard of them." Hjar growled. "Bastards own just about this whole city."

"And most importantly, the mine." Margret nodded. "That silver makes them some of the wealthiest people in Skyrim. Tullius wants me to make sure the Stormcloaks don't get their hands on it; or if possible steal the deed for our side."

"Had any success?"

"Hardly. Thonar keeps to himself, and keeps everything important under lock and key. But I have noticed that there's something suspicious going on in this city. The Silver-Bloods have the guards in their pockets and this isn't the first time the Forsworn have made an appearance. Sometimes I've walked back into my room in the evening and found things moved...I think they know who I am."

Hjar frowned. "You think you were _targeted_?"

"Either that or they accidentally picked the one spy out of a crowd of normal citizens." Margret grimaced. "I think I might have to leave for Solitude."

Hjarnagredda thought. Her views on the civil war in Skyrim were...mixed. On the one hand, the Empire could go to Oblivion because they were the oppressors; the ones who had abandoned the Reach in its time of need, and yet demanded control the moment it suited them. On the other hand the Stormcloaks, _Ulfric_ Stormcloak, was the one who had come to the Markarth and retook it from the Reachmen, driving them out to become the Forsworn.

Hjar didn't remember much of that time. She knew that she'd been born in Markarth, but that before her second birthday there had been a few days of loud noises and screams. After that, there had just been the camps out in the mountains.

Ultimately, she supposed it didn't matter. Margret _was_ an enemy (an enemy with nice hair), but now wasn't the time for Hjar to do anything about her. She needed to find her people, and Margret might know where they were.

"I mentioned I was here for my family." Hjar told her. "They're...well, I'm worried they're involved. I was hoping you might know more about the city, anything that might help?"

"I can tell you where Thonar lives." Margret smiled. "But if you're looking for someone, and you think they're in trouble...well, they're probably working in Cidnah mine. The people that work there get holed up in the warrens when they're not mining themselves into an early grave."

"Thanks." _Now do I go there when the miners are in or when they're out?_

"Do you need a place to stay?" Margret asked.

"Uh. Huh. I'll have to go talk to the-"

"If you want, you could stay in my room?"

That stopped Hjar up short. "Oh, I wouldn't-"

"No, please. It's the least I could do. I've already booked the room for the rest of the month, but since I'm ditching town tomorrow morning I'd be happy to give you the key. We'd have to bunk together for tonight, though."

She _was_ low on coin...

"Alright, sure." Hjar smiled. "I'll take you up on that."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"It was ghosts."

"You-what?"

Falk Firebeard was stood in the Blue Palace waiting for his Jarl's arrival, when he suddenly found his shoulder grabbed by a very tall, very frightening Orc.

"Ghosts." Dulurza told him, simply. "In the cave."

"Oh, right, Wolfskull." He shook his head, then jumped, catching up with her words. A few guards gave him questioning looks, just as on edge as he was by the Orsimer's sudden intrusion, but he waved them off. "Wait, that wasn't just some hoax?"

Dulurza shook her head. "There was a whole cult of necromancers there. Trying to summon someone. Heard of a 'Wolf Queen Potema?'"

Falk blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "By the Divines...if it was Potema they were trying to summon, you've done us all a big favour. She was one of the nastiest-"

"_What happened_?"

For the second time in half a minute, Falk jumped out of his skin as someone _else_ appeared behind him and started talking. He turned and took in hooded blue robes. "Sybille? Where did you-"

"The ritual. In the cave." Sybille Stentor zeroed in on Dulurza, staring intently at her. "Did you interrupt it? Did you see what happened?"

Dulurza shrugged. "I killed everyone who was involved, and all their undead. There was a big ball of blue-purple energy above them shouting at them angrily; once I put them down it floated out a hole in the ceiling."

Sybille tutted. "About as knowledgeable an answer as I could expect from an Orc. Still, helpful enough." She turned and began to walk towards her room.

"Sybille!" Falk called after her. "Didn't you say you hadn't detected anything in the cave? What do you call this?"

She stopped, and turned with a curt look. "You would be wiser not to question me on matters where you are ignorant, Falk. The fact that they evaded my observations is concerning, but irrelevant now that they are dead. More worrying is that now I must calibrate my instruments to detect the restless spirit of a dead queen. If Potema _has_ been called back from Oblivion, then she is loose upon Skyrim. We must find where she has gone." She turned again.

"You're Sybille Stentor?" Dulurza called, making her stop again. "The one who kidnaps and kills the prisoners?"

Sybille's look back was deadpan. "I am the court wizard of Solitude. I serve Jarl Elisif as I served her husband and as I served his father before him. You would be wise to remember that before you make such accusations."

"How long was her husband Jarl for?" Dulurza asked Falk, who had up till then been gawking at the two of them.

"What? Oh, uh, about ten years?"

"Hm." Dulurza squinted at Stentor. "You look awful young. Orc wise-women are more proud to show lines on their face; proves they've survived long enough to amass real wisdom."

"I've aged gracefully, I think." Sybille answered, while Falk was making frantic silencing gestures at Dulurza. "And I've learned many things, such as when I should speak...and when I should hold my tongue."

Dulurza snorted. "You know, there are less pretentious ways to tell me you're a vampire."

The Blue Palace fell silent, as everyone else in that early stopped and gaped at the Orc.

Sybille glared at her challenger for a long few seconds, before turning and calmly walking out of the room.

"That wasn't-" Falk coughed. "Stentor isn't a-"

"The Jarl." Dulurza turned to him. "May I meet her?"

_Divines, I need some Firebrand wine. This is the first time the palace has fallen into chaos before court even _starts.

"Uh, yes. If you come back at say, three, I can get you a private audience with her to receive your prize. If you'd-"

Dulurza had already walked out.

Falk breathed in, heavily, then exhaled, before clapping his hands. "Alright people, enough staring. We have a hold to run!"

* * *

**8˂**

"Ahh, yeah, there, right there..."

"Friend, if you keep making such noises, those outside may begin to have strange thoughts about our actions." L'laarzan giggled, reaching down into her washbowl to clean her hands.

"Right, sorry." Veezara coughed. "It's just...where did you learn to _do_ that?"

"Khajiit told you! L'laarzen is the greatest hairdresser in Mundus." She purred, modestly.

"Well, yes, but, where did you learn how to professionally wash scales and clean horns?" The Argonian slumped back into her chair as L'laarzen resumed her ministrations. "I haven't gotten a proper cleaning since I left Black Marsh."

"L'laarzen entered Skyrim from Windhelm's ports, where she spent a long time among the Argonian dock workers there." She replied, honestly. "Your race is much different to many in Tamriel; with horns and feathers where most have hair and fur. But L'laarzen would not be the best if she could not tend to all her customers, hmm? A shame you have plucked all your own feathers, they are so beautiful when allowed to grow."

"I wasn't in much of a position to maintain any." Keevara admitted. "Though that may change now, if you intend to become a permanent fixture of the city." She stretched out as L'laarzen finished, and sighed. "Alright, how much?"

L'laarzen sighed. "Well, there are two options. Five septims...or one hundred."

Keevara tilted her head, suspiciously. "Oh really? What's the difference?"

"Well, five is what L'laarzen usually charges when plying her craft. This covers all cutting, styling and washing. But...Khajiit understands that one hundred is what you owe some friends, and have been until now reluctant to pay them."

Keevara's face fell. "Oh, no. Tell me you've not been swallowed up by the Thieves Guild."

"Khajiit thought it prudent to make as many friends as she could upon entering a new place." L'laarzen stressed, wringing her hands. "For instance, she has much in common with the members of the temple of Mara; Dinya Balu is a lovely Dunmer, such nice skin to complement her-"

Keevara stared, and L'laarzen stopped.

"Khajiit will not force this one to pay." She sighed. "Nor threaten you, nor steal from you. You are a customer, and a friend, and your choices are your own. But if L'laarzen does not return with the gold, _another_ will be sent, perhaps one with not so kind a disposition. The Thieves Guild is determined to send a message, it seems, that they can no longer be ignored."

Keevara stared at her for another few seconds, before sighing. "Alright. I'll get into my stash, pay you what you're due. But if the guild wants to be taken seriously, they had better make good on this 'protection' they promise."

"If anyone gives you trouble, you need only to call for L'laarzen." She grinned, flashing teeth. "Khajiit's friends will always be safe while she is nearby."

Keevara chuckled. "Have you perhaps been making the same case to other business owners in Riften?"

"This one is the third that Khajiit has visited today." L'laarzen admitted, giggling and packing away her things.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Torn between making a dramatic entrance and not drawing any attention to himself, Alexander strode dramatically yet stealthily into the hall of the elements. The teacher, Tolfdir, was obvious by age alone, supervising two students who were alternating casting wards and fireball spells at each other. Xander also noticed a Khajiit and a Nord practicing by themselves off to one side. He had planned to go introduce himself to Tolfdir, but upon witnessing the Khajiit's technique, he found his feet walking off in that direction without much conscious interference.

"You're not channeling the Aetherius properly." He told the Khajiit, approximately half a second before realising that this apprentice was probably significantly more powerful and talented than he was and that this was a _terrible idea_.

"What was that? Are you questioning J'zargo?" The cat turned his head around and glowered down at him.

"You're treating the ward like its a Destruction spell." Xander gestured at the blue shield J'zargo was trying to form, which was flickering angrily at the edges. "It's a pretty standard mistake, actually, I wouldn't-"

"This one is awfully presumptuous." The Khajiit squared up to Alexander, and oh good, he was scary _and_ tall. "J'zargo is the most talented student here! Khajiit does not 'fail to understand' his spells-"

"No, no, no! It's a good thing!" Xander lied to protect his own ass, "That just means you have a really strong Magicka supply, that you can perform this type of spell off your own back!" _Sure, that sounds believable_. "Destruction is all about using your Magicka to push entropy onto the world. _Restoration_ is more about channeling the energy of the Aetherius to accomplish what you want."

He held his hand out. With no small amount of effort, he conjured up a basic healing spell in his palm, gold light flashing around his body. "See here? I'm not using _my_ power to directly make a glow, I'm just shaping the natural Magicka that has seeped into the world from the sun and stars."

"Hmm..." J'zargo stepped back and put a hand on his chin, as Xander cut power to the spell and tried not to let the exhaustion show on his face. That damn cat could stroke his fur all he wanted, didn't even have to worry about growing a beard...

"There is some sense in what you say. You are quite knowledgeable." J'zargo admitted, finally.

"Thank you." Xander nodded. "If you'd like, I could give you some more pointers? The actual methodology for Restoration can be difficult to grasp for people new to it. Uh-even _if_ those people have a lot of natural talent."

He'd tacked that end bit on to cater to the Khajiit's obvious ego, and it seemed to work, as J'zargo nodded and allowed Xander to talk more on the subtleties of how handling the spell should feel, ideal hand positions, and more.

Make no mistake, Alexander Meteuse knew what he was talking about. He had devoured book after book on the schools of magic, magical history, the Aedra, Daedra and Magna Ge, and the secrets of the universe. He had talked for hours with some of the brightest minds in the Synod, amassing knowledge of the arcane arts.

He just...couldn't actually _use_ most of it. That was why the Synod had kicked him out.

After about half an hour of helping, Xander realised that the Hall of the Elements had gone very quiet. He turned around to see Tolfdir (and most of the other students) staring at him.

"I certainly don't recall the Archmage hiring an assistant teacher." The old man declared, not unkindly. "Who might you be?"

"Uh, Alexander Meteuse, sir." He gulped. "I'm a new apprentice."

"Is that so?" Tolfdir held out one hand, flames forming in his palm. "We've been working on wards today, as you seem to have noticed. Would you care to demonstrate your own?"

_Oh dear_.

Tolfdir must have seen something in Xander's face, because he smiled easily and said "If you don't know one, I can provide you the spellbook for a basic ward."

_Yes! This is good, I can just say that I think it might take me some time to-_

"Of _course_ this one knows how to cast ward spells." J'zargo laughed, dismissively. "He understands them just as well as J'zargo does!"

_Divines damn you you furry git that was my one way out_-

"Yes," he coughed, "I know the theory, but-"

"Then you wouldn't mind?" Tolfdir asked.

"I'd rather-"

"Please. I've heard from my colleagues that you're quite adept at summoning, I'd assume you would be easily able to show your defensive prowess?"

_What am I, a draugr? Because I seem to be pretty good at digging my own grave! Hey, that was good I should use that-_

On the outside, Alexander just made a face and fell into a stance, pulling up the restoration magics in his hands and thinking desperately through the ward matrices he had just been teaching J'zargo. _It's only a simple ward, right? We have enough Magicka for _that_, right? Even if we've never pulled it off before? C'mon, man. Use the fear of being fireballed. One, two, three, hnng-_

A bright blue shield blossomed into existence in front of him.

Alexander had a full second of standing there in complete shock, as Tolfdir's firebolt crashed harmlessly into the shield. He wondered briefly whether panic had awakened the ancient Elven bloodline from within him, before realising that the ward wasn't actually his doing.

J'zargo walked out from behind him, maintaining the ward with one hand while using the other to point at Tolfdir.

"You would question the friend of the great J'zargo?" He accused. "This one has shown Khajiit more in the last half hour than your college has in the last week! If you want to test a ward, test this one!"

Xander was about ready to completely denounce his new friend in order to _not_ get expelled on his first day, but instead of getting angry, Tolfdir simply smiled. "No, I think I've already gotten quite enough of a demonstration. J'zargo, excellent work, you've improved greatly. Mister Meteuse, it's one thing to learn a spell, but quite a different thing to teach it to another. I believe it's going to be a pleasure to have you in the college."

"Ehehe. Likewise." Xander's legs felt like blubber, he almost fell over when J'zargo clapped him heartily on the shoulder and went over to join the others.

"And everyone present should see no harm in going to Alexander, or to each other, for advice!" Tolfdir clapped his hands. "Now, I think it's high time to demonstrate some of the ways magic has been used throughout history..."

* * *

**Next Time: Someone gets lost in the snow, someone get's beaten up, and someone gets a new wardrobe.**


	3. The Life that Smacks Back

**Last Time: Dulurza got an appointment with the Jarl, L'laarzen politely collected some debts, Hjar got some leads on the Forsworn Conspiracy, and Xander proved he could at least _teach _magic in the college.**

* * *

**The Life that Smacks Back**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Aranea Ienith exhaled, her breath frosting in front of her. Above the howling wind could be heard the soft sounds of someone cautiously ascending the stairs behind her. Finally, after decades of waiting...it was time.

"I foresaw your coming, traveller." She called out, not turning around. "My lady Azura has granted me visions of prophecy. I knew you would walk up the steps to this shrine since long before you were born."

"Uh...okay?"

Aranea turned to look at him. The Imperial man was just as she had seen; though perhaps with slightly redder cheeks than she had expected, and she'd been _certain_ her vision had had a beard.

"My name is Aranea." She told him. "I am a priestess of the Daedric Prince Azura."

"Azura of the dusk and dawn?" He gaped, some life entering his eyes. "The mother of the rose? The queen of the night sky?"

"Indeed." She smiled. "I'm glad you know your legends. And my lady has chosen you to be her instrument."

She had expected some reaction to that. Fear, trepidation, resolution. She had _not_ expected Azura's champion to squeal like a child, then jump up into the air and pump his fist a few times. "Yes! _Yes! This is everything I've ever wanted_!" He hissed gleefully to himself, before coughing and turning to her. "Right, yes, of course. What does Azura wish of me?"

"The lady's star has been stolen." Aranea stated. "The-"

"The Daedric artefact that functions as a soul gem but doesn't break allowing an unlimited number of souls to pass through it?" He interrupted, all in one breath.

"Y-yes. It has been taken and corrupted, and Azura has chosen you to retrieve it. I cannot see it's location, yet I have had visions of those who are closely linked to it. I believe that there is an Elven Mage, living in the city of Winterhold, who may know more. Your task is to go out in Azura's name and reclaim the star, then bring it back here to be restored."

"I would be honoured to enact Azura's will." The Imperial bowed, before pausing. "...This doesn't sell my soul to her for all eternity, right?"

"There are worse Oblivion realms than Moonshadow, but no, your soul is still your own."

"Oh, good. Just...one more question."

"Hm?"

He winced. "Do you happen to know which way Saarthal is? I set out from Winterhold a few hours ago, and I think I'm lost."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"Weylin? Aye, he lived in here. I suppose his room will go to someone else now."

Hjar nodded, trying not to shiver in the cold dark of the Warrens._ I never understood anyone who could work in a mine. This is horrible_. She tried to keep a pleasant face. "Right. Say, do you have the key?"

"I do."

"Mind letting me borrow it?"

He shook his head. "Can't. I'm in charge of the rooms here, no letting random strangers in."

Anger flashed. "Please? It's important, and I'll only be a few minutes."

"Sorry, miss. Rules are rules."

It was dark, and claustrophobic, and he was in her _way_\- "_I Wasn't Asking_." She growled.

Something in her eyes must have given him pause; he shuffled and glanced towards the exit. "Alright, fine. Just be quick."

He pulled a key off his belt.

She took it with a curt nod, walking towards the door he pointed out to her.

Once inside, she quickly found what she was looking for, a note addressed to Weylin, instructing him to carry out the attack in the market. "And who is this 'N' who gets off sending people to commit murder?" She muttered to herself, looking at the single letter at the bottom of the page.

But the room was even more claustrophobic than the hallway had been, and Hjar didn't want to be in there a minute longer than necessary. Grimacing, she pocketed the note and left.

She hadn't made it five steps outside the warrens before an Orc pushed himself off a wall and stood in front of her, arms crossed.

"You." He declared.

"Me." She replied. "Need something?"

"Apparently you've been snooping around. Putting your nose where it doesn't belong." The Orc cracked his knuckles ominously. "I'm here to convince you to stop."

"Right." Hjar leaned backwards, squinting at him. "So d'you work for the poorly hidden Forsworn or the poorly hidden corrupt mine-owners?"

"Funny." He took a step forwards. "I know your type. The type'a girl that goes around causing problems. It's about time you made your way out of this city."

"I have business here." Hjar told him, stretching out her wrists. "If you want me out, you'll have to drag me out."

He grinned at her. "That's the plan."

"Alright." She shrugged, putting her hands up. "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

He took another step forwards.

She punched him in the face.

Her knuckles broke.

She hissed but continued forwards even as he stumbled back, delivering a knee to his groin that made him double up and bringing her elbow round to the side of his face.

He bore it with a grunt, dropped his centre of gravity and charged forwards, pushing her back and forcing her off of him. He swung in with his own fist and she blocked it at the armpit, but then his other arm came round and her broken hand couldn't stop it. It collided with the side of her face, cracking something and knocking her to the ground. She lashed out with a foot at his knee, but it held, and he kicked her in the stomach, making her curl up. His arms grabbed her lapels and he pulled her up to his head level. "See here's the thing, miss-"

She spat a tooth out in his face.

He roared and slammed her into a wall, then threw her back to the ground. She grimaced through the pain, working to get both her hands on the stone beneath her. Her blood boiled, and her vision went red, _not now don't lose control now_-

The Orc was bearing down on her, but suddenly he howled and his legs buckled, a figure appearing behind him.

Hjar didn't waste the opportunity, launching to her feet and bringing her second fist round, punching him square in the jaw.

Her other fingers broke, and he fell on his back.

"You know, I get the feeling this isn't the family you came here to meet." Margret remarked, idly twirling a steel dagger around her left hand.

"You said you were leaving this morning." Hjar accused, cradling her hands.

"I was." The redhead shrugged. "But then you started picking fights with people a head taller than you. Speaking of which-"

She leaned down and pulled a second knife out the back of the Orc's leg. He howled again. "Hey, milk drinker. Who sent you after my friend here?"

The Orc spat. "Go to-"

"Answer her." Hjar growled at him. "Or it'll be a race between who gets to send you to your Gods fastest."

"Ugh, fine! It was Nepos! Nepos the nose." He pulled his leg in and put pressure on it, glaring at them. "But you and your psycho girlfriend are in for a whole new world of pain if either of you go anywhere near-"

"Great; thanks for your time." Margret replied, boredly, immediately tuning him out. Both women walked away.

"Guess you're my girlfriend now." Hjar told her, feeling the gap in her teeth with her tongue. "Sorry about that."

"Eh, its alright. I could do worse." Margret turned to look at the Breton, concern appearing on her face. "Are you alright? You look pretty banged up."

"I'm fine." Hjar grimaced. "This is normal."

"I suspected something yesterday, but-" Margret hesitated. "You have Weakmarrow, don't you? Normal bones don't break that easily, even on someone as stubborn as an Orc."

Hjar froze in place for a moment, before sighing. "Yes. I do."

And it was a _pain_.

The Forsworn valued strength, and independence. But it was hard to be strong when your body ached after a minute of running, and your bones cracked under any real pressure. They had wanted her to be a shaman, staying at home hunched over an alchemy table, or worse to be made into a briarheart by the hagravens.

She had refused, of course. Too stubborn. That was part of why it had all gone so wrong.

"I'll be fine." She insisted. "I know how to get myself fixed up, don't worry about it."

Margret looked at her for a few more seconds, before sighing. "Alright. If you say so. So, looks like I'm going to be staying in town for a little longer. Who do you want to visit first? Thonar, or mister Nose?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander was having the _best_ day right now.

He elegantly flourished his sword (of the ancient Nord design, claimed about five minutes ago) before stabbing it through the draugr's throat, then pointing his fingers at the zombie behind it and watching it explode into flames.

First, he'd found out he was apparently the chosen one for a proper Daedric prince.

Then, some creepy dude in yellow had frozen time and said that the Psyjic Order had a mission for him! The _Psyjic Order_! Actual super-wizards from an island in the middle of nowhere with untold magical power had a vague quest for _him_!

And now he was merrily slaughtering his way through the stupid and weak draugr that had appeared to defend Saarthal. A task made significantly easier by the scrolls that J'zargo had given him to test out.

Sure, they set Xander on _fire_ when they were used, but they were damn effective and the basic healing spell was just about the only thing he _did_ know how to use. And besides, maybe if his fake robes got all burnt up, he could request new ones. He kicked the draugr he'd just impaled backwards, making it stagger into its compatriot, and dropped the ashen remnants of the scroll to draw his staff from his back. With a thrust, a gout of flame shot out the wooden dragon's mouth, and blasted into the two undead.

They fell to the floor, crumbling.

Sure, it was a novice level enchantment, but it had been enough to blow up that one door with all the ancient Nordic runes on it.

Now _that_ had been fun. Five minutes of deciphering the purpose of the door and the amulet from the ancient language scrawled over them, five minutes of trying desperately to summon an offensive spell like it told him to, before eventually resorting to just using his staff on the thing.

And now he was here, and Tolfdir had followed him down, calling after him.

"Ah, Mr Meteuse! I trust you're alright?"

"Alexander, please." Xander wiped the guts off his sword in what he hoped was a casual fashion, trying not to shudder at the gross, hundreds-of-years-old dead bits. "And yes, I'm fine. These undead aren't too much of a threat."

"I'd remain vigilant." The older mage cautioned. "The simple draugr are easily dispatched by a competent warrior, but their wights and overlords pose much more of a challenge."

_Pfft, whatever. Wait, don't act too vain._ "I'll keep that in mind."

The teacher smiled back at him. "Thank you. It's good to see you have a sensible head on your shoulders." _Oh wow, that worked!_

Xander continued walking forwards with Tolfdir, approaching another black iron door. "This is as far as I've gotten."

"Then, let us proceed together." Tolfdir checked Xander was ready, and at his nod, opened the door.

An ominous blue glow awaited them.

"Oh. Oh my..." Tolfdir stepped forwards, putting his hands on the balcony. "What on earth is-"

"Staff!" Xander vaulted the balcony, landing on the floor below and rolling, and immediately slamming both hands on the staff on the table. "Hello my darling~"

It looked like a restoration staff, but when he cradled it it felt more like it had destruction magic within it, and ooh it was such a beautiful thing...

"Um, Alexander?"

"Hm?" Xander looked back up at Tolfdir, coming back to his surroundings. "Oh, right." He looked around.

There was a giant, glowing, floating, spinning blue orb with a protective forcefield in the centre of the room. "Yeah, you'd think I'd have spotted that first." Xander mused.

Then he looked down a bit and saw the draugr in a fancy hat sat at the table he'd taken the staff from. Glaring at him.

"Oh."

The draugr rose and Xander screamed, stumbling backwards away from the table. He drew another one of J'zargo's scrolls and activated the thing, blasting flame into the draugr's face. To his horror, however, a blue shield blossomed into existence around the zombie, the attack barely even moved the thing and now Xander's _arms_ were on _fire_-

"_TOLFDIR HELP!_" He screeched, scrambling backwards as the draugr stabbed its axe onto the stone between his legs, inches below cutting something _very valuable_ to him.

There was a whoomph from one side and then a fireball slammed into the side of the draugr's head. Tolfdir's attack staggered it, but again did no damage, and when Xander lunged in with his sword, that clattered harmlessly off the thing's chest as well.

"Nothing's working!" Tolfdir shouted.

"_Yeah, I got that_!" Xander shot back, vaulting clumsily over the table to put some distance between himself and the draugr. There was a brief respite, but then it reached out with its left hand and blasted a steam of frostbite at Alexander, which he held his arms up to try and block. On the plus side, his arms weren't on fire anymore, but on the downside they were now going numb.

"The orb!" Xander shouted. "Attack the orb!"

In desperation, he clutched the staff he'd just taken and pointed it at the draugr. If anything, that just pissed it off.

"**Fus...**" it declared, and Xander's eyes widened, "**Ro Da**!"

The Shout was weaker than the legends said it should be, but it still sent him stumbling backwards to crash into the force field around the orb-thing.

"Hold on!" Tolfdir shouted, then began blasting electricity at the shield. It did something, as the glow around the draugr vanished, replaced by a dark cloud.

Xander didn't hesitate. He pointed the staff again and bid it fire.

Lightning blasted out the top of it (_lightning, huh_) and the bolt took the undead in the chest, staggering it backwards.

He kept firing, dropping the sword from his right hand to palm another of J'zargo's scrolls, his eyes a little bit crazy with panic and adrenaline.

Another bolt of lightning took the zombie in the chest, and then in the arm, and then another hit it in the face as a blast of fire crashed into its stomach. That was enough, sending it off its feet and crashing into the back of its own throne before falling limply to the floor.

_Overlords and Wights are stronger. Yeah, okay. _Xander breathed out, slowly. Then set about putting out the flames on his robes.

"Are you alright?" Tolfdir asked, rushing over to him. "That was amazing, my boy! You were able to immediately discern that the shield around the draugr was magically linked to the orb!"

"Hehe, yeah, sure." Xander agreed. _They are? Really? I'd just noticed that they were both the same greeny blue_. Then he scowled. "How come the freaking _zombie _had a greater comprehension of the dragon language than I do? That's not fair."

"What?" Tolfdir squinted at him.

He gestured vaguely at the draugr's head. "_Fus Ro Da_. Force balance push. Fair enough, a lot of the old Nord kings could do it in life, but still, I've practiced."

"You speak the dragon tongue?" Tolfdir's eyes widened.

"Sure." Xander cleared his throat. "'_Nii Nunon Tinvaak'_. It's only a language. Ten septims says there's a word wall through one of these doors that tells us some more about who this guy was. Of course, _Shouting_ is more than that. You have to intrinsically _understand_ a word with all its connotations to Shout, which either takes decades of meditation in silence or a bunch of traumatic events. For instance, I have just now been very attuned with the concept of fear. _Faas_! Nah it didn't work."

Tolfdir shook his head. "Incredible. I imagine Urag may request your help with many of the tomes in the library. But for now..." he turned, to look back at the glowing orb. "What on earth is _this_?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

It was two forty. Dulurza strode purposefully through the streets, beelining towards the Blue Palace. An audience with the Jarl. Finally. She couldn't kill Elisif here, obviously, it was still some time before the raid on Solitude was planned. But now was an opportunity to build trust, get in close. This woman was still a Nord, and Nord culture overlapped with Orsimer in a few key ways. If Dulurza proved she was loyal, reliable, then Elisif should quickly come to acknowledge her usefulness. To trust.

Wrongly, of course, but that was the whole point.

"Please tell me you don't intend to visit the blue palace dressed like _that_."

Dulurza, jolted out of her reverie, stopped and stared at the Elf woman who had just randomly accosted her on the street. "I do. What of it?" She responded flatly.

The Elf looked her up and down without bothering to conceal her disgust. "By the eight, you're serious. You can't present yourself to the Jarl dressed like a barbarian from the hills!"

Dulurza shifted. Yes, her Orcish armour was ugly, and currently spattered with blood, but it was _effective_, and the blood showed that she'd been successful in combat.

Although...Nord culture did still have many differences to the Orsimer. For her, appearing before the chief in recently used armour was fairly standard, but the Jarl of Solitude might see it differently.

"So, what would you suggest?" She asked the Elf, crossing her arms.

"Hm." She paused. "I wonder...Radiant Raiment could provide you with an outfit."

Dulurza recalled her modest coin purse, knowing that this sounded like the sort of clothing that _nobles_ wore. "For what cost?"

"Well the exposure would be more than worth it if you...Hm. Tell you what." The woman straightened. "Let me dress you up. Go in wearing our garments and ask the Jarl what she thinks of it. If she doesn't like it, you keep your trap _shut_, but if she does, tell her where its from. I'll pay you if you can get us custom from the Jarl, and you can keep the outfit."

Dulurza bit her lip in thought. Making a good first impression was important...

"Alright. So long as you don't put me in a _dress_."

* * *

**8˂**

"Ooh." L'laarzen's eyes adjusted back from the lower light of the sewers to the relatively bright cistern. "Your organisation has a beautiful base, friend."

"Don't think anyone's ever called the ratway beautiful before." Brynjolf chuckled, walking in behind her. "But aye, the cistern's one of the nicer parts of it. Welcome to the Thieves Guild, lass."

"This your new recruit?" Called another man, walking over with a confident stride.

"Aye, Mercer, this is her." Brynjolf gestured between them. "Mercer, this is L'laarzen. L'laarzen, this is the guild master of the Thieves Guild. Mercer Frey."

"A pleasure." She smiled, holding her hand out for him to shake.

"Hm." He took it. "This is the one you think will help put us back in business, Brynjolf? Not much to look at."

"Not everyone does their work in muffled armour, Mercer." Brynjolf clapped her on the shoulder. "This one was able to collect all the debts we're owed by Riften's businesses without bloodying a knuckle. All while wearing plain clothes."

"Khajit has her ways." L'laarzen preened. "Sometimes all that is necessary is to find a different approach."

"Yes, I heard about that." Mercer stared her in the eyes. "Was that due to an excess of skill, or a lack of resolve, I wonder?"

L'laarzen blinked, innocently.

"I vote we find out. Set her on Goldenglow."

"What?" Brynjolf frowned. "Mercer, not even Vex could get in there!"

"You think she's going to help fix the guild? Let her prove it!" Mercer smiled at her. It wasn't a nice smile. "Perhaps this special way of hers will let her get in where we couldn't."

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest, but L'laarzen held up a hand to stop him. "Please, friend. Khajit will not disappoint her boss on the first day." She turned to show Mercer what a _kind_ smile looked like. One tinted with a challenge. "Could you introduce me to this Vex? I'd be happy to trade a styling session for information on the target."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Jarl Elisif the Fair had seen some funny things in her life. Certainly there was always foolishness occurring in the courts; politics was a recipe for embarrassment and as long as that was occurring to your opponents it could be very amusing. Of course, then Torrgy had...and she had not laughed, since then.

And yet, when an Orc woman taller than the city guards walked up the steps towards her throne, wearing the kind of clothes you'd expect to see on a court noble and a _battle-axe_ strapped to her back, the image was so comically ridiculous that Elisif had to resist bursting out into hysterics right then and there.

Fortunately she was able to restrain herself to a smile slightly wider than was strictly necessary. And Falk had made this a private audience (it was just him, her, and the new arrival there) which was good. Elisif knew that there were many in her court who would have laughed aloud at the new visitor, and quite possibly been murdered for it, given by the specs of fresh blood on the weapon. _Alright, Falk, what on Tamriel have you brought me today?_

"Jarl Elisif," he said, in his official voice, "this is Dulurza, daughter of Larak. She is the one who disrupted the events in Wolfskull cave."

"Ah, that was you." Elisif inclined her head. "In that case, we are in your debt, Dulurza." She rolled the foreign name around her tongue. She found she liked it. "Potema's rule marked some of the blackest years in the history of Skyrim. You did us a great favour by ridding us of her."

"Your court wizard warned us that the spirit might not have left." Dulurza pointed out.

"Then I'll be sure to keep you around in case she returns." Elisif replied.

"Your court wizard is a _vampire_."

Elisif's smile became something of a grimace. "Yes, those rumours made their way to me rather quickly. There isn't any proof-"

"Simple. Put her out in the sun." Dulurza shrugged. "If she blisters and burns, behead her."

"Now that is a rather..._direct_ path to problem solving."

The Orc snorted derisively. "Your Imperial courts are far to complicated. Waste too much time. Direct is better."

"Sometimes, I cannot help but agree with you." Elisif admitted, smile returning. She found she was beginning to like this newcomer, as crude as Dulurza may be. "So, what brings you here? You've done much for my hold with no expectation of a reward."

Dulurza shuffled in place. The finery was obviously uncomfortable for her. "I left my stronghold a short while ago. I sought a position of honour, one which would let me exercise my skill in battle."

"The Imperial legion is always willing to accept-" Elisif tried, but Dulurza shook her head adamantly.

"I'm an _Orc_. I won't serve an emperor thousands of miles away, or his lackeys." She nodded in Elisif's direction. "You're here. I'll serve you."

"Is that so?" Elisif looked at her critically. "Well, if you can continue to be as helpful as you have been, then-"

"My lady." Falk coughed, from the side. "I don't mean to downplay her accomplishments, but perhaps it wouldn't be ideal to have someone of her...heritage, in the court? I mean no disrespect, Dulurza, but many of the Men and Mer in the Blue Palace have enough trouble with _each others_' presence. And Elisif already has a housecarl."

Elisif looked down, cowed. "You're right, of course. I-"

"You're in charge, right?"

She looked up. Dulurza had spoken, and was looking at her intently. "It's a wise chief that listens to their advisors. It's a weak one that is controlled by them. Unless they're willing to challenge you in protest, your word is law."

Elisif couldn't keep the shock of her face. That...that was the first time anyone had stood up for her since Torryg.

Falk was backing up in embarrassment. "My lady, I never meant to-"

"It's fine, Firebeard." She placated, chuckling. "But Dulurza has a point." She turned to meet the Orc's eyes. "If my court isn't accepting of other races then that's their problem, and one they should rectify. Perhaps some exposure would do them good. And besides, my housecarl needs to be by my side at almost all times. I need someone I can rely on to send out into Skyrim, and act in my name."

Falk frowned. "Surely, you can't mean-"

"Not Thane." Elisif reassured, then, cheekily, "not yet, anyway. Ensure Dulurza is suitably paid for her efforts so far, and equipped if her current arms and armour aren't suitable. If they are, have them cleaned and sharpened."

"Can I have the headsman's axe?" Dulurza asked.

"Ahtar would probably betray us if we tried to take it from him, so no. Make sure you are present here tomorrow when court begins."

Dulurza nodded and turned to go.

"One more thing." Elisif called after her, trying not to stare at her backside. "You look quite fetching in those. Where did you get them?"

"Radiant Raiment." Dulurza muttered, not looking back. "I thought I should...well, to meet the Jarl..."

"Then you can let Radiant Raiment know that I'll be placing an order for some new dresses very soon." Elisif replied. "Perhaps we can match?"

Dulurza nodded, stiffly, and continued walking out.

Elisif leaned back in her throne, smiling.

Then she turned to shoot an annoyed "What?" at Falk, who was giving her a _look_.

* * *

**Our heroes begin getting themselves into difficult situations. Hjar's condition isn't a canon one, but I figured 'osteo-genesis imperfecta' wouldn't be Skyrim's official word for brittle bones. And let me reiterate; Xander Cannot Shout. He's just such a nerd he learned a dead language for absolutely no reason. I'm going with the headcanon that all the races of Men (Nords, Imperials, Redguards, Bretons) _could _theoretically learn to Shout the Greybeard way, but the Elves, Argonians and Khajiit can't. Elder Scrolls lore is a little vague on that. And of course, the Dragonborn could be any race, he gets his powers direct from Akatosh.**

**Next Time: Someone robs a guy, someone robs a guy, and someone robs a guy.**


	4. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Last Time: Xander found the Eye of Magnus and started searching for Azura's Star, Dulurza introduced herself to Elisif, Hjar investigated the Forsworn alongside Margret, and L'laarzen was introduced to Mercer Frey.**

* * *

**A Rock and a Hard Place**

* * *

**8˂**

"Uh, sir? There's someone at the gate asking to see you."

Aringoth froze, ink dripping from his quill onto the paper he was writing on. _Oh no._

"Who is it?" He spun on the mercenary. "I told you not to let anyone in! Is it an assassin? Is it Mercer? One of his lackeys? Is it _Maven_?"

"Uh, no sir." The man coughed awkwardly. "It's, well...she says she's a _hairdresser_."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"Oh no." Nelacar paled. "You're from her. From _Azura_. How did you find me?"

Xander snorted derisively. "Daedric princes know much more than us mortals would expect, mage. She pointed me right to you."

It was a lie of course. He had just stopped at the Frozen Hearth for a drink after his near death experiences at Sarthaal. Nelacar had been the first person he'd asked about the Star since he'd met Aranea at the shrine that morning. _Hey, maybe this is some godly intervention after all?_

"Dammit. I had hoped to bury that part of my life in the past, but I suppose it had to come to light sooner or later. Come with me." Nelacar lead Alexander into his room, taking a seat at the only chair. Xander, with no alternatives but the bed, walked over to lean on Nelacar's bar-cupboard-thing.

"Alright. I'll start from the beginning." Said the mage. "What do you know about soul gems?"

"They're crystals designed to store the souls of creatures that have been soul trapped and then consume them in enchanting." Alexander replied, without missing a beat. Enchanting (not requiring any Magicka) was one of the few things he could actually _do_.

"Right." Nelacar nodded. "But Azura's star is-"

"A special soul gem and Daedric artefact of Azura which allows an unlimited amount of creature souls to pass through it." Xander replied, again. Daedric artefacts were the best things ever.

"By the Gods, Azura certainly sent an expert." Nelacar shook his head, looking suitably impressed. "Well, anyway, I worked with a man named Malyn Varen some years ago. We had found the star, and were attempting to alter it so that it could allow black souls to pass through it."

"Unlimited human souls..." Xander tried not to drool. It was an enchanter's wet dream. Human life was relatively cheap, but black soul gems were as expensive as ebony equipment and just as rare. With a 'black' Azura's star, a skilled mage could visit a bandit camp with a soul trap spell and...well, get rich.

"Did you get it to work?" He asked, a little too eagerly.

"No." Nelacar grimaced. "I _could_, I'm certain of it. But while Malyn was working on the star, he went mad. Azura started messing with his mind as he got closer and closer to success. One day I arrived and he'd..._killed_ a student. It was the event that got me kicked out of the college. Malyn fled with a group of his followers and haven't been seen since."

"Hm." Xander nodded, temporarily distracted with something he'd spotted on Nelacar's shelves. "So if I wanted to find the star, where would I go?"

Nelacar raised his eyebrows. "You're pursuing the star?"

"Azura wants it back. Apparently she's been scheming and prophesising about it for decades." Xander squared up, fixing a determined look on his face. "I've got to get it back, no matter the cost."

"Well, you'd have to go to Illinalta's deep." Nelacar looked down. "It's a mostly submerged ruin off the coast of the lake near Falkreath. But it will be filled with Malyn's disciples. Powerful, fanatic mages who have no qualms about murdering people for their experiments, not to mention all their undead minions, as well as Malyn himself, who's almost as strong as the teachers in the college. If you're willing to go there, then-" Nelacar paused. His audience was gone. "H-hello?"

Outside, Xander walked very rapidly up towards the college.

_Nopity nopity nope nope nope._

_Fortress full of psycho mages? Me, with my zero mage prowess? Sorry Azura, find someone else to be your errand boy. I'm going back to wizard school._

Back inside, ten minutes later, Nelacar was about to get back to his reading when he paused, scanning all of his shelves. "Wait. Who stole my staff of Arcane Authority?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar and Margret walked side by side into the Silver-Blood treasury house. Hjar's hands massaged her still broken fingers, Margret's sat comfortably on the hilts of her two daggers.

The receptionist looked up, and paled.

"Thonar." Margret told her.

She gulped. "Thonar Silver-Blood is not-"

"We aren't asking." Hjar growled.

"His room's to the left." The woman gulped, cowering. "Here's his key."

Sat on a nearby chair reading, Betrid Silver-Blood tutted but didn't say anything.

The door unlocked with a click.

The room's occupant looked up with a sigh.

"Oh, perfect." Muttered Thonar. "Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?"

"Send out assassins, apparently." Hjar supplied, glaring.

"Cute. I take it you're aware your compatriot is an Imperial spy?" Hjar nodded at that, and Thonar turned to Margret. "Great. You are terrible, by the way. I knew who you were the moment you entered my city."

"A criticism I'll take to heart, but we're not talking about me. We're talking about-"

"Oh no, I think we are talking about you." Thonar stood up to face them both. "You know this city is problematic enough as it is. I would know, I _own_ half of it, and I'm busy enough dealing with the Forsworn here without you two lovebirds snooping around."

"Lovebirds...People keep making that assumption about us." Margret mused.

"We want answers." Hjar declared, blood boiling from the pain and from this obnoxious asshole.

"And you won't get them." He glared. "What you'll get is a life sentence in Cidnah mine if you keep asking questions. I think it's high time you-"

Hjar tuned him out. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going-"

She ignored him, sprinting down the stairs and forcing broken fingers to yank her mace free from its holster.

She had smelled bloodlust.

The receptionist (previously meek demeanor gone) had just grabbed Beitild about the neck from behind and drawn a knife when Hjar slammed into them both, knocking both to the floor. She'd learned from Weylin, not waiting before she raised her mace above her head and brought it down on her target. The receptionist barely got her arms up in time to block the blow, resulting in both being heavily damaged, and Hjar raised her arm again, only to have to jump backwards as another one of the servants swung at her with a shortsword, drawing a small line of blood across her exposed stomach.

"Who in Oblivion are you?" She yelled at him, baring teeth.

"We are the children of the Reach!" He yelled back, brandishing the sword. "And we will not be silenced!"

_Forsworn_. Hjar froze. And then Margret was vaulting the desk and swinging, forcing the man to catch one dagger with his blade and then burying the other in his gut. She elbowed the dying man in the face to force him away, before sinking to a crouch and stabbing her other dagger in the receptionist's head before she could get up.

And just like that, it was over.

"Nice instincts." Margret panted, smiling up at her. "That was one fast reaction."

_By the Divines, you just can't stop helping people KILL YOUR BRETHREN, CAN YOU?_

Hjar nodded mutely, internally wallowing in self disgust, as Thonar came thundering down the stairs after them.

"Beitild! Oh thank the gods..." he ran over and crushed her in a hug.

The woman didn't look all too pleased with his empathy. "You told me you had them under control!" She snapped at him. "You told me we were _safe_, Thonar!"

"We should have been! They were!" He shot back. "Damn that man, he's an animal!"

"Thonar?" Margret said, sheathing her daggers and looking at him imperiously. "What in Talos' name is going on?"

He glared up at her, but then stood up to face her. "You wanna know so bad? Fine. The Forsworn work for _me_. I have their 'king' locked up in Cidnah mine. They kill who I tell them to kill and stay away from me and mine, and I keep their leader's head off the chopping block."

Hjar's rage was growing again. "Clearly you don't have as much control as you think, given that they'll send out murderers after your family."

This was an _outrage_. No self-respecting Forsworn would work as an attack dog for their oppressors. Or at least, that's what Hjar was going to tell herself.

"Clearly." Thonar spat on one of the corpses. "He and I are going to have _words_ about this."

Beitild looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Words? He tried to kill me and you're going to have _words_?"

"Don't worry baby, he's never going to come near you again I swear-"

"Don't you come near me, bastard! I don't want any more part in-"

Margret nudged Hjarnagredda, and whispered "Maybe now's the time to go."

Hjar nodded. As Thonar and Beitild's voices rose, she plucked the key to the treasury from the receptionist's body (as insurance) then both women quietly slipped out the door.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza's presence in the Blue Palace the next day came with about the amount of hubbub as you'd expect. Bolgeir Bearclaw, Elisif's housecarl, was surprisingly the quickest to accept her. His immediate response was to threaten to _kill_ her if she made one wrong move towards the Jarl, but Dulurza understood that, it was something Orcs did all the time. She made a brief comment back about how "my loyalty isn't up for debate, which is good because there's nothing you could do to stop me if it wasn't". He chuckled, pat her heartily on the back and said it was good to have someone else guarding the Jarl.

See, _some_ Nords made sense.

The rest of the palace, however, weren't quite so accepting. Sybille still gave her death glares whenever they were in the same room, in response to which Dulurza (in what she felt was a very mature response) threw back every curtain she could to let as much sunlight into the room as possible. Most of the other courtiers looked at her with poorly veiled disgust, but she'd decided to actually show up in armour today. Funnily enough, none of the nobles were willing to _voice_ their dislike of the towering, battle ready orc looming from behind Elisif's throne.

Cowards.

Amusingly, this seemed to transfer some residual respect onto the Jarl herself; Elisif was constantly making surprised looks every time the nobles accepted her decisions without any backtalk.

Dulurza concluded that Elisif was used to much less respect than she'd received today.

So, during lunch, she asked about it.

Off to one side, Falk almost choked on his bread, while Elisif grimaced and set down her cutlery.

"Well, yes." She admitted. "These last few months have been hard. Torryg was always the High King, not me. After he died, most of the Jarls agreed I should be given Solitude in his place. But not many were prepared to leave me the power and responsibility that entails."

"Did he die? Or was he murdered?" Dulurza asked.

She'd expected sadness from the Jarl, and been fully willing to drop the matter if Elisif didn't want to talk about it. Mourning was something Orcs understood too. She hadn't expected genuine surprise.

"You...you don't know?" Elisif asked.

Dulurza shook her head. "Orc tribes are very isolated. All I know is that the old ruler of Skyrim died, and now there's a war to decide the next one."

Falk stepped in. "Please, this is a very sensitive subject. If you'd like I could fill in the details in private-"

"It's _fine_, Falk." Elisif waved him off. "I need to be able to talk about it without breaking down. It's been long enough for me to manage _that_ much, at least."

She turned back to Dulurza, expression gloomy. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm (though we no longer recognize him as such) entered the Blue Palace to confront Torryg, my husband and the High King. We all thought he was going to ask him to declare independence from the Empire, he'd been going on about it for years."

"Why?" Dulurza asked.

"You _have_ been living under a rock." Elisif leaned back and sighed. "Well, after the Great War with the Elves about thirty years ago, the Empire signed the White-Gold concordat with the Aldmeri dominion, a peace treaty. The Emperor was desperate, some say weak, and there is much about the treaty that the empire's citizens find unfair, but one of the biggest issues was outlaw of the worship of Talos. Talos, the god who was once Tiber Septim, dragonborn and founder of the modern Empire."

Dulurza grimaced. _That_ she could understand. If someone had tried to tell the Orc tribes they couldn't worship Malacath...well, there would either be victorious Orc tribes or _no_ Orc tribes when all was said and done.

"And this Ulfric objected?"

"He did. Many people, even Torryg, agreed with him in spirit. But Skyrim could not possibly stand alone against the combined might of the Empire and the Thalmor. Standing up against either alone would be foolish. At least, so thought the sensible. Ulfric...he decided to take matters into his own hands." Elisif gulped, taking a moment to control her expression. "He challenged Torryg to a duel for the right to become High King, an old Nord tradition. And then he..._Shouted_ at him."

Dulurza blinked, confused.

"An ancient power of the races of Men, originating in Skyrim." The Jarl elaborated. "Ulfric learned it from the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar. He shouted, and my husband just...crumpled. He was hurled backwards into the wall. And then Ulfric just walked up and executed him, right there. I have to hold _court_ in the same room where my _husband_ died."

She took in a shaky breath, before shaking her head and looking away. "I'm sorry for my weakness." She apologised, bitterly. "You probably think murder like that is a perfectly honourable way to take power."

Dulurza thought about it. "Is the Shouting cheating?"

"What?"

"After the old chief dies, the others fight for the right to take his place." Dulurza explained. "Or, if the current chief is weak or dishonourable, he can be challenged directly. But it is not fair for an Orc to poison his blade when making the challenge, or come in with some magic weapon or strength potion. Such things are likely to bring down Malacath's rage, let alone the rage of the rest of the tribe. So, is Shouting cheating, or is it fair?"

"I suppose that's the question of the hour." Elisif chuckled, humourlessly. "It's a very traditionally Nordic power, one any Man can learn, but those who _do_ are supposed to remain atop the Throat of the World...Whether Ulfric was an honourable hero or a power hungry barbarian is what has split this country in two."

"Hmph." Dulurza grunted. "Either way. Orc challenges don't have to end in death. Often enough they are between brothers, or good friends. He had no right to leave you a widow. Especially if you can't even give him a funeral with his own God."

Elisif looked back up at her. "Is that important for Orcs?"

"Very. How's one's soul meant to reach Malacath if their rites aren't performed properly?"

"Hm." Elisif paused. "I wonder...there's a very personal task I'd like to ask you to complete. Not the sort of thing I can ask in my official capacity as Jarl, but-"

Dulurza laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I am at your service. What is it that you need?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

There was a knock at the door to the archmage's quarters. Savos Aren didn't look up from his book. "Come in."

It opened, and someone came in.

"You'll be one of the new apprentices then." He remarked, glancing up at the Imperial. "I don't believe we've met?"

"No, sir." Said the young man.

"Sir? How quaint." Savos smiled. "You may call me Archmage, or some combination of Mister, Savos and Aren if you're feeling adventurous. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here from Saarthal." The apprentice replied, eliciting a groan.

"_Please_ tell me another one of the apprentices hasn't been disintegrated again." Savos replied, already mentally beginning the paperwork. "I've got enough on my mind already-"

"No, Archmage. It's an...orb. Tolfdir sent me to ask you to come look at it."

"An...'Orb'." Savos rolled his eyes. "Well, I trust Tolfdir will provide me with a more cognisant explanation when I see him next..."

He watched the apprentice's gaze sharpen.

"It's a glowing blue sphere approximately three metres in diameter." The boy said. "It floats above the ground and rotates at approximately nought point five radians per second. It's decorated with runes that don't match Daedric, dragon, Dwemer, Falmer, or any modern Tamrielic alphabets. I might suggest an Aedric origin, given the makeup of the energy it emits, and the fact that it can apparently be harnessed to generate protective forcefields. It was guarded by a son of the second archmage, indicating Gauldur and possibly Shalidor were aware of it, and given it's presence in Saarthal it may have something to do with the Snow Elves' reason for the Night of Tears, which would call into doubt previous explanations (mostly by Aldmeri historians) that the attack was a response to Nord barbarism."

Savos Aren paused to take that in, then closed his book. "Are those Tolfdir's observations?"

"No, Archmage. They are mine."

Savos looked up at the young man, paying closer attention this time.

"What is your name, apprentice?"

"Alexander Meteuse, Archmage."

"Meteuse..." Savos pondered, looking at him. "Yes, I know that name. You're from Cyrodil, yes? Three Meteuse siblings are causing quite a stir in the Synod, or so I hear. 'Some of the most talented mages of the generation'. I don't recall one being called Alexander, however."

Meteuse shifted awkwardly. "By the time I was of age to join, my elder brother and sister were already there. My younger sister was quite happy to follow their footsteps, but I didn't want to piggyback off their success."

Savos made a mental note to look up whether there was, in fact, a fourth Meteuse child, but decided it didn't really matter. This boy's knowledge spoke for itself.

"Well, it will be your name alone on the paper that gets published about this." He said aloud, smiling at the gobsmacked look on Alexander's face. "Alongside mine and Tolfdir's, of course. Obviously we will need to have this artefact brought back to the College for study, first, but congratulations on your find. Here-" he held his arm out, and the staff of magelight he had standing up in the corner flew across into it. "This staff was of much use to me when I was a young mage. I hope it serves you just as well."

"Thank you sir-Archmage." Alexander's tone was calm, but the staff was snatched out of Savos' hand before he could blink.

"Now, I suppose I'll have to go and facilitate this orb's retrieval." Aren stood up. "I'd like you to go to the Arcaneum and ask Urag if he has any relevant tomes on the matter. The Night of Tears or Archmage Gauldur, you said? Let's see if your theories pan out."

"I won't let you down."

Alexander nodded, and left.

Savos watched him leave. He almost pitied the boy. What must it be like, for his family to have such high expectations for him to succeed?

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

_My family are going to be so surprised when I actually succeed!_

Alexander was grinning from ear to ear as he walked down the steps to the Arcanum.

Okay, he was still lying to everyone around him, but he was on his way to publishing a Genuine Official magical paper on a historical find! His family couldn't ignore that!

...right?

Xander was the third of four children, in a relatively minor noble family in Cyrodil. Child one and two had both been powerful mages; just like their father, and his mother, and her mother and her father up until about 200 years ago when one of their ancestors had married an Altmer man. He was still alive, actually, elves and their long livespans, but he had participated in the sacking of Cyrodil so relations between him and the surviving Meteuse were a little strained.

So Alexander's parents had waited with baited breath for him to show the same aptitude. Waited for years. And then, when their fourth child began to demonstrate even more incredible magical skill while he had remained magicless...

_Feim Zii Gron_. It was like he had become ethereal, his parents' gaze passing over him, their attentions going straight through him and being lavished onto others.

But that was fine!

No, it was _fine._

If he could use his knowledge to unravel the secrets of powerful artefacts like this, his name might be spoken across all of Tamriel! And of course, the Arcaneum was where he could plunder the greatest collection of magical knowledge in Skyrim, so those magical problems were about to wash away like they had never even happened.

Brimming with optimism, Xander walked into the library, stepped up to the counter and said-

"I already know what you're about to ask. And the answer is no." Said an old, angry looking Orc.

"...Okay." Xander paused, thrown off. "So just in case there's a mixup, I was asking about-"

"You want my books on the Night of Tears." Urag told him, flatly. "News travels quickly here. Well I don't _have_ any. Not anymore."

_No! My international fame! My thesis!_

"Not anymore?" Xander latched onto, desperately. "What do you mean by 'anymore'?"

"They were stolen." Urag growled, and the world seemed to shake as though he was uttering a forbidden phrase. "A man named Orthorn took them from the college and ran off with them to Fellglow keep, northeast of Whiterun."

Xander nodded to himself, hope returning.

"Alright. Okay. I can get them back."

"You're sure?" Urag checked.

"Of course." Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "How hard can it be?"

"Heh." Urag grinned. "You're that one apprentice who's been making the news around here, aren't you? I suppose this won't be too much trouble for you."

_Corner one flighty apprentice, threaten him with your new lightning-Magicka-damaging staff, get books, get back, get thesis written. Easy! Can't be as difficult as Nelacar sending me off to a group of powerful necromancer mages, can it?_

"You'll have to fight your way through a group of powerful necromancer mages to get to him."

Xander blinked at Urag. "Come again?"

"Fellglow Keep is home to a cult of necromancers and mages in service to a woman named the Caller." The Orc told him. "But again, I'm sure someone like you will be able to get them back just fine. Might want to hurry up; the Archmage will be waiting for you to get back."

"...Sure. I'll get right on it." Xander replied, calmly. He walked, at a reasonable pace, through a few doors and stairways, making his way up to one of the balconies of the college.

There, he faced the northern sea, opened his mouth, and screamed.

* * *

**8˂**

"And that's the simple truth." Aringoth sighed. "I'm stuck between the Dark Brotherhood and the Daedric Prince, proverbially. No matter what I attempt next, there's practically nothing I can do!"

"There, there, friend." L'laarzen gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before returning to braiding his hair into a respectable Elven pattern. "L'laarzen has been in similar situations many times. The trick is to think about what you truly have to lose, and if you can live without it. Material things are not always necessary to live a good life; though admittedly this is only usually said by those _with_ to those _without_."

"I suppose you're right..." he mused. "I'm terribly sorry, you must think me awfully pathetic to just blurt out my troubles to-"

"Not at all, friend!" L'laarzen reassured, finishing up. "The stylist has an often unappreciated role as confidant. Providing a nonjudgemental ear is part of Khajit's duty! And...there, that should be that. Do you like?"

Aringoth looked at his reflection in the mirror she proffered. "Yes, actually. Much better. Are you sure you're only charging five septims? I would hate to underpay you for such amazing work-"

"Oh, no, L'laarzen insists!" She giggled, putting away her things. "Besides, Khajit feels like she is taking away much more than five septims from this meeting."

"If you say so." He turned around and shook her hand. "Thank you again, I think I needed that. I'll have one of my guards escort you out. Not that I suspect you of thievery, of course, but-"

"No, of course! It is always best to be prudent!" Shouldering her bag of equipment, L'laarzen met up with the mercenary. She chatted happily with him as he walked her out, even while she was memorising every hallway and stationed guard. He took her to the gate, unlocked it, and let her walk out, locking it again behind her. She made her way to just inside the forest's edge, where she she stopped, and put down her bag.

She stripped off her clean, green clothes (simple, lovely, and far too brightly coloured) and folded them neatly into the bag. Her dark grey fur blended seamlessly into the evening light. She opened up a different pocket of the bag, from which she withdrew a set of lock picks, a tinderbox and matches, and a potion of brief invisibility (for emergencies) all of which she fixed within pouches on a tactical belt about her waist. Next to them, she put the key ring she had stolen from Aringoth. He was a contract breaker, after all. Contract breakers and traitors were the only ones she broke her rules for.

"No claws, L'laarzen, no claws." She whispered to herself, closing her eyes and holding her hands tightly together.

Then, she crept right back up to Goldenglow Estate, and began to scale the walls.

* * *

**And there we have it. Some more lore dumping, and groundwork being set for further adventures. I start to fill in some more of Xander's backstory, and Dulurza learns more about her country's backstory. You'll notice it's never _explicitly _said in-game exactly what happened between Ulfric and Torryg? Plus the characters have a tendency to spread rumours and tell conflicting stories. Skyrim storytelling I guess.**

**Next Time: Someone kills out of desperation, someone kills out of self defense, and someone kills out of rage.**


	5. You're Not Supposed to Be Here

**Last Time: L'Laarzen prepared to infiltrate Goldenglow Estate, Xander was sent to retrieve books for the college, Hjar interrogated Thonar Silver-Blood, and Dulurza accepted a personal task from Elisif the Fair.**

* * *

**You're Not Supposed to be Here.**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

The shrine of Talos was a small thing. Alexander had expected more from the Nords, especially since he had the enormous shrine of _Azura_ to compare it to, but he supposed that given the worship of Talos was illegal (and unlike the worship of Daedra, being actively hunted) this was all the natives could manage. A statue of an armoured man, perhaps two men tall, with a few lit candles, coins, and weapons as offerings.

Xander awkwardly sat down in front of it, gulping.

"Hey Talos." He said, out loud. "It's me. Your boy."

The statue didn't respond.

"You remember me, right? I mean, I know I don't come round often...ever...this is the first time...I mean, in my defense, worshipping you has been outlawed since before I was born."

The statue was silent.

"Gods, this is stupid..." Xander shook his head. "Look, I'm here because...your whole schtick is that you used to be just some guy. A chosen dragonborn warrior thing, sure, but just some guy, who was able to become a _God_. You're all about something lesser become something great. And I'm...definitely lesser. Look, I'm not a mage. Divines know I'm not a real mage, but I want to be one. And now I've got to go out there and fight a cult of crazy mage dudes, _twice_, if I feel up to it, and I just..." He grimaced. "I was wondering if, maybe...you could give me a hand?"

There was a thud, and Xander nearly had a heart attack as a large, armoured woman dropped to her knees beside him.

She was an Orc, probably something like eight feet tall, garbed in steel armour except for her face, beautiful despite the curved, enlarged teeth that jutted out from her bottom lip. She reached to a satchel at her hip and withdrew a bone war horn, placing it gently on the altar. "You are not my god." She said, in a voice that was deeper than Xander's. "But you were his. He fought valiantly in defense of what he thought was right, and died honourably. Whatever paradise you offer, he belongs there."

_Shalidor's Left Testicle, that was the most badass thing I've ever seen! _

Xander gaped in awe as the Orc effortlessly stood up again and turned away.

"Who was that _for_?" He couldn't help but ask.

"High King Torryg." She responded, without missing a beat, continuing to walk away.

Then she stopped. Her hand went to the hilt of her axe.

"I'm sorry-" Xander blurted automatically-

"Shh. You hear that?"

Xander froze, and turned to look out into the night. It was dark (duh), the moon was covered by a thick blanket of black cloud. The candles of the shrine made a bright orange glow against the cliff side, but there were no lights in the surrounding plains, and plenty of large rocks to hide behind.

Slowly, Xander stood to a crouch, and drew his staff of magelight from his back. He charged it, and let fly a bolt of gleaming white light.

The light struck stone, and gold armour glinted.

The Orc was moving before Xander could even react, roaring a battle cry and charging at the newcomers.

Elves, five of them, their armour and robes quickly identifying them as agents of the Thalmor. _And here I am at a shrine of Talos. Of course. _Fortunately Xander's new acquaintance was providing him with salvation. She swung _once_ with her axe and three of the Thalmor were forced to back up, one being disarmed. She then spun and bashed a fourth in the face before turning to decapitate the fifth like it was nothing.

Xander ran forwards, feeling like he should probably be helping, dropping his magelight staff and scrabbling for the other one strapped to his back while drawing his sword with his right hand.

By the time he got there the Orc had killed another _two_ of the Thalmor and was already turning on one of the remaining two.

One was a robed mage, but Miss Battleaxe's target was the other, in armour, and her weapon crashed into his shield hard enough to put a dent in it and stagger him backwards.

The other summoned a bound blade in his hand, and swung it at the Orc's back.

It crashed against black steel.

Xander caught the attack on his ancient Nord sword with a grimace, arm shaking from the impact, before jabbing the staff of Jyric Gauldurson into the Elf's chest and firing it.

They howled and were flung back a few feet, dropping their bound weapon to use both hands to form a ward that blocked the next blast from Xander's staff.

It did not block the axe that came sailing over Xander's head to bury itself in their chest.

The Imperial collapsed to the ground (exhausted), while the Altmer collapsed to the ground (dead).

"Who are you again?" Xander gasped out.

"Dulurza." The Orc grunted, pulling her axe out the Thalmor's chest. "I serve the Jarl of Solitude."

"We just commit _treason_."

"Not if we're not here when more arrive." Dulurza sheathed her weapon, unbothered, and turned to leave.

"Waitwaitwaitwait!" Xander shouted after her, scrambling to his feet and walking after her. "I need your help!"

"With what?" She didn't turn around, or stop moving.

"There's this ruin, and it's full of mages, and I'm going to need to fight them and-"

"Hire a mercenary."

"_That_...is a good idea, actually, but I don't want some guy with a sword from a tavern I want _you_!"

"I'm not for sale, boy." Dulurza replied, uninterested.

"But you just killed like five people in thirty seconds!" Xander continued desperately. "And I think Talos might have sent you to me! And I, uh-" _She was still leaving- _"I'll enchant all your gear!"

That made her stop. Dulurza turned around and stared at him. "You're an enchanter?"

He nodded as fast as he could. "I am! And I'm good! I can do fortify two handed, and fortify health, (obviously not both at once) and I have a few greater soul gems that I definitely didn't steal from the College, so they'll be high quality stuff, I promise!"

"How do I know you're not just lying to me to get me to help?" Dulurza asked, reasonably.

"Well, if I try to cheat you at any time, you can _kill_ me and take all my stuff, heheh..." Xander tried for a smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "And if you want, I could do one of your armour pieces first as insurance?"

She stared at him silently for what must have been a full minute, biting her lip. "I want gauntlets, breastplate, helmet and boots done."

"Deal. Not your axe?"

"I'm holding out on getting a better axe, so not much point. This is for one dungeon, we agreed?"

"One dungeon. Half a day's work."

"And I get what I want from the corpses of the ones I kill?"

"Sounds fair." He nodded.

She held out a hand. "Deal."

He shook it. Her grip nearly broke his fingers.

"Alright then! Go team!" He grinned, stepping away and shaking out his hand. "It's only a mile or so west-northwest, up in the mountains. You want to go now? Set up camp, stop back in Whiterun for the rest of the night..?"

"We go to Whiterun, because there isn't going to be a table in the wilderness where you can enchant my gauntlets." Dulurza pointed out.

"Right, yes."

"Also, we should probably get away from these bodies."

"That too." Xander looked at them, hesitantly. "Do...you want to loot them or can I? That one's sword is better than mine."

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen clambered up the fence with little issue. There was a mercenary on a tower; she waited with her hands on the edge until he was looking the other way before pulling herself up and jumping in onto the the estate grounds.

The scent of wet grass tickled her nose. Her ears twitched to pickup the distant sound of buzzing from the hives, and her tail swished through the evening air, maintaining her balance as she rose into a crouch. Her eyes quickly adapted to the dimness, and she licked her lips, grinning. _L'laarzen is Back In Business_.

She decided to go for the deed to the estate first; given that setting the hives on fire would be bound to draw all sorts of attention. Her feet padded, not quite silently, but pretty close to it as she made her way through the shadows to Goldenglow Manor. The mercenaries on the outside weren't too much of a problem; those one the walls were on the lookout for threats from without, not within, and those patrolling the grounds were incredibly lax. It didn't take much for L'laarzen to sneak her way up to the back door of the manor. She put her eye to the keyhole to check the other side was clear, put her ear to it to double check, then pulled Aringoth's keyring from her belt. She tried three keys, then the fourth was able to click in the lock and turn. It was a good door, well oiled, barely a sound as it swung open. _Amateur. Always have squeaky hinges. Or bells on the doors, if the squeaking sets your teeth off._

Now the inside of the manor, that was a little trickier. Everything was well lit, and the corridors had much less space to hide. But the boards creaked under the heavy footsteps of the armoured guards, and L'laarzen had already memorised most of the layout from her trip into and out of Aringoth's room. She slipped into the dining room and then out via another door, entirely avoiding one corner guard, and then pressed herself against one end of a bookcase, looking into the corridor ahead of her.

Now, here was the tricky part.

In front of her, the corridors met in a T. To the left was the staircase up to the next floor, as well as the gate down to the cellar, and to the right was a long corridor that had a blind corner at the end. A mercenary patrolled from the cellar gate along to the blind corner, then back again. That left L'laarzen with a small window where he wasn't looking at the gate and wasn't in her way.

She waited patiently, and timed how long it took him from passing her location going right to passing it going left again. Twenty one seconds. Half that to get ten, round down to eight for error...yes, there was time.

There were four total keys on the ring; presumably one to the doors (which she knew already), one to the safe, one to the cellar and one to the outside gate, leaving her three possible options. _Whoever is listening, grant L'laarzen luck_.

She continued to wait, and the next time he passed her location going left, she darted out into the corridor and padded rapidly to the gate, keys already in her hand.

It was four seconds before she tried the first key, nothing, six seconds and she was trying the second key, nothing, eight seconds and she was on the third and a quick glance showed he was turning-

The key clicked in the lock and she swung the gate inwards, pactically throwing herself inside before shutting the gate as quickly as she could without rattling it. Across the corridor, the mercenary squinted on his way back to the gate, almost thinking he'd seen a tail flick through. But he dismissed it, shrugging and continuing his rounds.

Inside the cellar, L'laarzen held her breath until he was gone again, before glaring at the keys in annoyance. _Perhaps Brynjolf was right about this run of bad luck._

But it wasn't enough to stop her.

Now underground, the lights were small candles dotted about, and most of the mercenaries were just sat at tables gambling, or sleeping outright. Keeping to the shadows, L'laarzen passed them all by, descending one more layer to reach a small room. In that room was a safe.

Of the two unknown keys, it was the second that fit the lock to the safe, which was _very_ concerning because that meant she'd been _as unlucky as possible_ with them. There was, what, a one in twenty four chance of that happening?

The contents of the safe were similarly concerning. Pouches of gold and precious gems, worth a lot but loud to carry around on a belt. Ingots of valuable metals that were too heavy to smuggle out, she'd have to carry them to outside and dump them in a lake, and let Brynjolf know about it later. The deed was there, thank goodness, and the note...when she read it, her eyes widened, and she quickly folded it up and stored it in one of her waterproof pouches. _That fool. Why in Azurah's name has he sold the estate?_

* * *

**8˂**

The gold and silver ingots fell into the sludge with satisfying splats, quickly sinking into the mud. L'laarzen mentally marked the spot, shook out her hands now that they were free from the weight, and turned to continue across the estate.

Night had truly fallen at this point, and the clouds obscuring Secunda meant that conditions were _perfect_ for sneaking. L'laarzen was practically able to follow the _paths_ on her way to the beehives. A bridge did creak, loudly, beneath her feet as she crossed it, but that only earned a cursory look by the guards as she dove behind some wooden palisades to avoid them. The real problem came when she reached the hives themselves. Burn three, Brynjolf had said, to send a message. Slight problem being that burning beehives wasn't something she could just slip in and do quickly, and there was a guard stood right there next to them. L'laarzen looked around; he was alone. Makes sense, the 'get stung by bees' shift mustn't be very desirable. Slowly, she lit up a dim golden glow in her palm, and crept up behind him.

One hand covered his mouth, while the other reached up to grab his forehead, and pulsed gold. He struggled weakly for a few more seconds, before his body went limp, and he slumped to the floor.

It was an...unorthodox application of restoration magic, she could admit, bolstering the right chemicals in the brain. The spell could be used to slowly make a customer doze off, if they would like to sleep during or after a styling session. Or it could be used to knock a grown man out in seconds.

She dragged his body out of range of any buzzing vengeance, before clicking her fingers and lighting flames in her hands. The simplest fire spells had such utility, especially for distractions.

_Sorry, little friends._ L'laarzen exhaled, and let loose streams of fire.

It was less than half a minute before the guards arrived on the scene, to see three of Goldenglow's hives burning like funeral pyres in the night, but by that point L'laarzen had ducked behind a set of wooden palisades. She took one last look over her shoulder before making a running jump off the edge of the island, diving into the murky waters of the lake, and away.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"Okay, after that, I'm putting my armour on." Margret remarked.

"You have armour?" Hjar asked.

"Studded leather." She nodded. "For emergencies. And considering our 'attacks per investigation' ratio is 1:1, I think I'd like to be prepared."

"Got it." Hjar chuckled. "I'll meet you at Nepos'?"

"Sure. But _you_ have to use this time to find a healer."

"I'm fine." Hjar lied, blatantly, and Margret clearly didn't buy it. "Ugh, alright."

"Good. I don't want you getting hurt." Margret waved, and took off at a jog back through the streets to the streets.

Hjar watched her go, smiling, then angrily shook her head. _Enemy, remember?_

Her hands throbbed at her, and she sighed, making her own path through the city.

She had heard that there was an apothecary in the city, but knew from experience that nothing but the most expensive healing brews would heal her up with any kind of speed. The potion of minor healing was for cuts and bruises, not broken bones.

A magic healer, then. Hjar was a Breton, but restoration was never something that she'd been able to master, much to her chagrin. Her first thought was the temple of Dibella, but that was closed for some reason. Fortunately, the nice lady there had told her that apparently there was a member of the Vigil of Stendarr the city, and unless Hjar was a vampire then he should be more than happy to help.

Further scouting and quizzing of other citizens revealed that the cleric had questioned more than a few of them about a certain abandoned house off the high street.

The vigilant wasn't in front of the house.

But the door was open.

"Hello!" She called, then immediately regretted it as her followup breath in drew a wave of dust into her mouth. She coughed, violently, which then caused her bruised ribs to throb. Grimacing, she forced herself to keep walking forwards, eyes taking in the most notable features. _Fresh food, lit candles, but dust everywhere. So whoever is here's not been here long, or doesn't stay for long periods. The vigilant perhaps?_

She walked further into the house.

The reason for all the dust became quickly obvious; down at the back of one of the rooms was an _excavation_, for Azura's sake. She proceeded cautiously down the tunnel, hearing sounds of shouting from deeper within. At this point she knew that if there was a vigilant down here, he would either be dead or quite preoccupied, but by now she was motivated entirely by curiosity.

Loose dirt crunched beneath her feet as she reached the lowest part of the cave. It was quite a sight that met her eyes.

"You blasted Daedra!" Shouted a man in vigilant robes, brandishing a steel mace threateningly at some sort of altar at the back of the cave. "I'll never allow you to-"

Hjar's foot slipped on a pebble, and he spun at the noise, spotting her immediately. "You! You're the worshipper aren't you? You built this twisted place!"

Hjar held her hands up and took a step back. "Hey, no, easy, I just wanted-"

"Lies!" A dim ray of sunlight from a hole in the roof illuminated the spittle on his lips, and the bloodshot in his eyes. "Deception! Your patron is trying to twist my mind! I won't let him!"

_Bit late for that, sweetie_. Hjar thought, dimly, but only got a moment to contemplate how terrible a situation this was before the vigilant raised his mace over his head and roared, bearing down on her.

_This has just been the worst weekend-_

Hjar charged in hard, low, and fast. His mace never got a chance to land as she tackled him about the stomach and slammed him into the altar.

She kneed him in the groin, twice, and grabbed one of his arms with hers to slam it against the wall, making him drop the mace.

Her hands were practically on fire now, this being the second time in as many hours she'd tried to use her broken bones to grip a weapon, but she ignored it, grabbing her own mace from her hip and bringing it down with a slam onto his left cheek.

There was a flash of green.

_Stoneflesh- _She grimaced as she saw the alteration spell in his palm, and the thin layer appeared over his body, reducing the impact of her mace to a bloody bruise, rather than a broken jaw.

Then his second hand came up and punched her in the face.

It was her turn to crash against the altar, seeing stars, but she had enough sense to swing her mace again and try and catch him.

He caught it on something, Stendarr's mercy she could barely even _see_, and then her mace was ripped out of her hand.

Two hands wrapped around her throat.

She coughed as she was lifted bodily upwards, feet dangling above the floor as the vigilant choked the life out of her, almost crushing her windpipe.

Her eyes started to roll upwards as she gasped for air, and she was going to _die _down here, and Margret was never going to know where she'd gone and the ball of rage in her stomach was getting angrier and angrier, begging to be released-

_No! To Oblivion with all of you! I'm not dead while I still have two good arms!_

Her eyes snapped open. Her own arms stretched out to the vigilant's face, fingers settling on his insane eyes. The stoneflesh spell helped, but it couldn't stand between her digits' desperate strength and her particularly squishy target.

His will broke first.

Howling, blood pouring down his face, he released Hjar and staggered backwards, and she collapsed to the floor_ no get up don't stop now-_

She fell atop him, slamming him to the floor and straddling him. She didn't waste time trying to choke out a stronger and more durable opponent; she just grabbed his head, lifted it up and slammed it back down onto the rocky floor.

That didn't do much but stun him, so she did it again.

And again.

And again.

Eventually, that was enough to make him stop moving.

Hjar staggered back up, took one look at the blinded priest laying in a pool of his own blood, and turned to vomit in the corner.

It took a few minutes for her to compose herself after that, recovering her breath and getting her rage under control. That was when the sound of a dark, malicious laugh began to echo in her subconscious. "**You fight like a cornered rat, daughter of the Reach.**"

Hjar reached up and, with a final wince, forced her nose back into a sensible location. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"**You are weak. Broken. And yet you refuse to submit. You roar and flail until the world around you bends to your will. How _delicious_**."

Hjar turned to give the altar a flat look. "Molag Bal, I take it."

"**Indeed**."

Molag Bal. Daedric Prince of Domination. Ruler of Coldharbour. Progenitor of vampirism. Attempted conqueror of the world.

"Alright. Nice to meet you." Hjar carefully sidestepped the obvious trap in the floor and turned to go.

"**Halt!**"

She groaned and looked back. "Do you mind? I've been through enough already today, and I have a date. Uh, not that kind of date."

"**Your pathetic mortal matters are of no consequence to me. I have a task for you**."

Hjar grimaced. She was a Forsworn, and the Forsworn teachings were quite clear. If a Daedric Prince wants you to do something, you damn well do it.

"What task?"

"**Ah, such defiance, and yet you submit. Dissapointing**." Bal's voice was dripping with vitriol. "**There is a priest of the pitiful wench Boeithia. Logrolf. He visits my shrine every month to perform his insulting rites at my altar, but lately he has been missing. Your forsworn have captured him at Deepwood Redoubt. I want you to find him, and free him.**"

"You want me to kill my fellow Forsworn?"

"**I understand you have had no problem doing so thus far.**"

She grimaced, and the prince laughed again.

"**Go. Bring him back here. Let him perform his rites one last time. But when he does, we will be waiting**."

A quest. For a Daedra. Had she been younger this might have been a dream come true, but as it was she just felt tired.

"Fine." She took one last look at the dead vigilant, and turned to leave.

"**One last thing. Say hello to Hircine for me, will you?**"

She scowled, and walked faster, and his haunting laugh accompanied her on the way out.

* * *

**8˂**

A sopping wet L'laarzen pulled herself out of the lake onto the wooden platforms of Riften's docks. She was shivering from the cold, and all the combing she'd done that morning was ruined, but she found herself grinning from ear to ear. _L'laarzen has forgotten how good it feels to complete a heist, it seems. Easy, girl. Don't fall back down the slope._

She shook herself off as best she could, but was unwilling to use any flame magic when it might attract the attention of the Riften guards who still patrolled at night. For the same reason, she could hardly use any of the traditional routes into the city...

Mood dampened a little, L'laarzen extended her claws again, and set about clambering up the walls.

By the time she had made her way up and over, the heat from her exhaustion did away with most of the water's chill. She dropped down, and was surprised to find that her feet met grass, rather than stone. After a quick look around to get her bearings, she realised that she must be in the back garden of that Orphanage, Honorhall. Shrugging to herself, she prepared to vault the fence and make her way down into the ratway, but shrunk back into the shadowed corner when the door to Honorhall opened.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw an old woman leading a child out by the ear.

"I didn't mean it! I swear! Grelod, OW!" The child protested angrily.

"Don't you talk back to me like that!" 'Grelod' snapped, slamming the door closed and turning back to him. The only light in the garden was a single torch in a sconce on the wall. "You have been _warned_ about spreading rumours, Hroar!"

"But it's not a rumour! It's true!" Hroar shouted back. "Aventus told us all he was coming back! He said he was going to Windhelm, and that he was going to-"

There was a crack.

In the corner, L'laarzen's fists tightened.

Grelod used the hand she'd just slapped Hroar with with to grab him by the front of his tunic. "Listen here, you little gutter-snipe. The Arentino boy is _dead_, you hear me? Dead!"

"But-"

"But nothing!" She shoved him, and he stumbled back against the fence, wincing.

"This orphanage is the only place that will take in you _dregs_. I don't want to hear any more about Arentino, from you or the rest of you kids! If he was stupid enough to leave, then he's stupid enough to have died in the wastes between here and Windhelm!"

Hroar glared at her. "You're wrong. He's going to do the Black Sacrament, and the Dark Brotherhood are going to kill you! And then we'll all be free!"

There was silence, for a few seconds. In the shadows, L'laarzen was shaking, her claws biting into her palm hard enough to draw blood.

Eventually, calmly, Grelod said, "Take off your tunic."

The boy paled. "No, Grelod, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Tunic _off_, Hroar. Turn around and put your hands on the fence." As he slowly began to comply, Grelod turned around and pulled the torch out of its sconce on the wall.

"When those gossiping little wretches ask you what happened, as I'm sure they will." Grelod replied, gripping the torch in both hands and pointing it towards Hroar's exposed back, "Tell them it's what happens when you start to entertain thoughts like _freedom_."

L'laarzen moved.

She didn't even decide to do it; one moment she was in the corner, seething, the next she was in the air and crashing into the elderly matron.

Grelod fell with a startled cry, torch dropping to the floor, and L'laarzen fell on top of her, claws out and swinging. She didn't even look, she just _felt_, making impact after impact until her arms were shaking from the exhaustion and the form beneath her was completely still.

It took her a second to realise what she had done, and her eyes widened in horror.

"You...killed her..." Hroar said, from behind her, something between terror and triumph in his voice.

L'laarzen didn't turn around to look at him. She threw herself up, over the fence, and ran.

* * *

**The Thot Plickens. I am _sorry _that all of Hjar's fight scenes end up being so brutal, I just want to get across the fact that she _has _to be. Physically, she's weaker than Alexander, but will resort to whatever she has to to stay alive. **

**Next Time: Someone gets emasculated, someone gets exasperated, and someone lets loose a little.**


	6. Learning New Things

**Last Time: L'laarzen slew Grelod the Kind, Dulurza teamed up with Xander to take Fellglow Keep, and Hjar encountered Molag Bal.**

* * *

**Learning New Things**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

The first thing the mages of Fellglow keep saw was Dulurza's axe cleanly decapitating their flame atronach.

The resulting explosion got the attention of everyone on the outside of the ruin, but by the time they comprehended that they were under attack, the Orc woman was already upon them, roaring in challenge. All those on the ground rushed in to meet her at close to mid range, but one of them had a much more advantageous position. The pyromancer stood up on the parapet was perfectly placed to rain hell down on Dulurza while she was distracted, and grinned as he lit up fireballs in his hands.

That was until he was distracted as well, by a lightning bolt slamming into his shoulder. The mana burn cut all power to the destruction magic and he hissed, turning to see Alexander charging him with a much less impressive war cry and a glowing Staff of Jyric Gauldurson.

Xander charged up the staff and fired, but the Pyromancer was able to put up a ward in time to catch the next lightning bolt. _Getting real sick of people doing that_. Xander scowled and fired again, breaking the ward, then swerved left on his way up to dodge the firebolt that flew towards him, and then he was upon the Pyromancer, swinging his brand new Elven sword down on him.

The Pyromancer...dodged. Huh.

The Dunmer man slid to the left of Xander's blade, and Xander wasn't used to a sword that was so light, so ended up digging the thing into the stone at his feet.

Then the Pyromancer shoved, and sent him staggering sideways to stumble into the wall of the turret.

_Well, that was embarrassing. _

The Pyromancer prepared flame spells, and Xander (disarmed of his sword) swung around with Jyric's staff held in both hands and cracked it against the Dunmer's head.

That got a more meaningful reaction.

It was one of the most satisfying cracks Xander had ever heard, and sent the Pyromancer stumbling away, as Xander immediately dropped the stick and charged back for his sword.

He grabbed it, and tugged. Nothing happened. Tugged again. It shifted.

_Come on, really-_

He tugged again, and this time it came free, and he turned round triumphantly only to get body slammed by a thoroughly irritated Pyromancer.

He collapsed to the floor and the Dunmer dropped on top of him, delivering an angry punch across his face that felt like it broke his jaw (it, in fact, only caused a light bruise). The Pyromancer straddling him made a victorious grin, once again lighting fire in his palms, and preparing to roast Xander alive.

That was when the sword went in through his gut.

Xander's hand slipped off the weapon's hilt as he scrambled away, and the Pyromancer fell to the ground, expiring.

_Woo! Yeah! I killed him!_

_Oh by the divines I just murdered a man._

Xander turned over and threw up.

"That was the most pathetic thing I have ever borne witness to." Dulurza remarked, walking up. "Truly, your existence is an affront to Malacath, Talos, and any other God that values honour or battle prowess."

"I just killed a man!" Xander protested, wiping his mouth.

Dulurza idly glanced at the nine other mage corpses on the grass nearby. "Uh huh."

"This is the first time I've ever done that, okay? It's a big deal!"

"It is." Dulurza admitted. "The first time an Orc child makes a kill, it is celebrated by the whole tribe. When a _Child _makes a kill."

"Oh shut up, I'm twenty one! How old were you when you first killed someone?"

"You're twenty one?" Dulurza snorted. "I'm nineteen."

Xander gaped up at her. "...You're kidding."

"You Men grow so slowly...and to answer your question, I was fourteen. It was some adventurer who had thought it clever to attack our camp by the cover of night. So I came up behind him with my handaxe and I-"

"_Do not need to know_, thank you."

Xander walked over and gingerly pulled his sword out from the Corpse-That-Was-Once-A-Real-Live-Person, holding it at arms length as blood and other insides-bits fell off it.

Dulurza huffed at the display. She snatched it from him, cleaned it off in a few short strokes, and handed it back. "There. Why didn't you just pull your dagger when he grappled you?"

"My what?"

"Your-" She growled threateningly. "You _know_ what a dagger is."

Xander took a step back and held his hands up in surrender. "Yes! Of course I do, I just, don't I already have a sword?"

"Oh, you poor summer child..." Dulurza pinched her forehead and sighed. "Have you ever been in a _fight_ before this?"

"I raided a draugr ruin a week or so ago?"

"Mindless zombies. Of course. And that's it?" He nodded. "Malacath, why did I pick the quest from the greenhorn..." She reached into her belt, and drew a large, green, wicked looking dagger. It was almost the length of his forearm. "You see this? This is mine. I forged it on my coming-of-age birthday." She put it in his palm and forcibly closed his hand around it. "Now you take this, and you put it somewhere easy to reach, and if ever you lose your sword or someone's too close to swing properly, you draw this and you stab them with it until they die, you understand?"

Xander nodded mutely.

"Good. Lose that and I kill you."

Dulurza stood to her full height (she had had to stoop to be at his eye level). "The people inside are bound to have heard that. We go in fast. You stay behind me. And given your uselessness is greater than expected, I want a necklace enchanted too."

"Yes Ma'am." He squeaked.

She rolled her eyes and continued on her way into the fort.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Orthorn ran to grab his bars as the mage who had been guarding him found a sword sprouting from his chest, then slumped to the floor.

"Not bad." An Orc woman told the shaken looking Imperial who had made the kill. "You'll have to aim better if you encounter someone with armour, but all these idiot mages are in robes, so you're fine for now."

"Is now really the best time to be learning combat basics?" The Imperial whimpered.

"Of course. You're _in combat_."

Orthorn breathed a sigh of relief as they walked up to the levers. "Oh thank the eight! You're here to save me!"

The Imperial saw him, and his eyes narrowed. "Orthorn?"

"Uh, yes?"

"You _bastard_!" He slammed down the lever and Orthorn's cage opened, which was something he found he didn't like quite as much as he thought he would.

"What? What did I-"

"You just had to go and steal books from the college didn't you? And now look! I'm sieging a fortress! I've almost died five times in the last twenty four hours and it's _all your fault!_"

"Well, let's not get too hasty!" Orthorn backed up until he hit the far wall of his cage. "I mean, I didn't mean to, uh, that is to say-"

"Do I kill him?" The Orc asked, hand on her axe.

"Hmm..." the Imperial squinted at Orthorn. "No. He's about my height."

"W-what?"

"Those enchanted mage robes?"

"Yes, apprentice level, what-"

"Good." The Imperial started pulling off his own gear. "Mine are fake and burned. Strip."

* * *

**8˂**

"Is there something wrong, my sister?"

"Hmm? Sorry, what?"

Dinya Balu chuckled at L'laarzen's non-answer, as the Khajit paused in cutting her hair. "When you first came in here you were one of the chattiest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. And yet today you've barely said two sentences. What's wrong?"

"Sorry, friend." L'laarzen sighed. "It is only...have you ever lost control?"

"How do you mean?"

"Done something you did not want to do, because you could not stop yourself." L'laarzen extrapolated, holding her scissors a little tighter than was necessary.

"Oh. Well, I can certainly admit to yelling at my husband on more than one occasion where he does not deserve it." Dinya tried a small joke, and when L'laarzen didn't smile, "but no, nothing of any real magnitude. All my mistakes have been made while I was entirely cognisant."

"Then you are fortunate." L'laarzen sighed. "It is not pleasant. When I was younger, I did not even realise what I was doing was wrong. It was only when I tried to stop that I realised that I was no longer in control. I managed, for a while. Yet recently..."

Dinya nodded, slowly. "Is this, and you are of course not obligated to tell me, a matter of a Skooma addiction?"

"Hm?" L'laarzen blinked. "Oh, no! L'laarzen was raised well, I know how to handle my moon sugar consumption. Is Skooma a problem in this city? I had heard that outside Elsweyr..."

"Indeed." Dinya nodded. "It's every week, if not every day, we have one citizen or another coming in to pray to Mara for freedom from their dependence. Sadly, the issue is often not chemical, but mental. We take away the symptoms of their withdrawal, but they still remember the feeling. I pity them."

"Perhaps Khajit will have to look into it. It pains me for something my culture understands to be so abused..." L'laarzen trailed off, continuing with the haircut.

"So what was it? What caused you to lose control?" Dinya asked.

"Rage." L'laarzen replied, which caused her customer to startle a little. "Yes, L'laarzen does not seem the enraged type, does she? But...a child was being harmed."

Dinya stilled. "...Grelod, matron of Honorhall, was killed by a wild animal last night."

L'laarzen stopped.

"I'm...not going to ask." Dinya said, carefully. "But Grelod was hated by almost everyone in this city, the kids in her care most of all. Whatever or whoever killed her doesn't have anything to feel guilty for."

L'laarzen stayed quiet for another few seconds, then went back to her work.

A few minutes later, the door to the temple of Mara opened, and Brynjolf (in his civilian clothes) strode in, quickly spotting her.

"There you are, lass. I've been looking everywhere for you!"

She looked up, tilting her head. "Something wrong, friend?"

"I wouldn't say 'wrong', but not necessarily very 'good'." Brynjolf told her. "It's Maven Black-briar. She has a job for you."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

The door swung open.

Unlike most of the mages they had encountered so far (and even that one troupe of vampires Xander had freed) the woman inside the chamber looked entirely unfazed by the Orc in full steel plate and the Imperial in (new, secondhand) mage robes.

"So you're the ones who've broken into my abode, killed my subordinates and interrupted my research." She remarked, dryly. "How _nice_ to meet you."

Dulurza grinned inside her helmet as Xander replied, "Likewise, even if we're both being entirely sarcastic. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"My name is irrelevant." The woman sniffed. "You may address me as the Caller. Now what do you want?"

Xander looked pointedly at the three books on pedestals around the room. "I'm looking for...yeah, those. They were stolen from the college, and I need them for a project of mine."

"How strange. Me too." The Caller allowed flecks of magic to dance around her hands. "With the amount of chaos you've caused, I don't feel particularly inclined to let you leave here with anything. Or even at all."

Dulurza tensed as Xander continued his (in her opinion fruitless) attempts at negotiating.

"Come now, we're both civilised mages. Can't we come to some arrangement?"

"What could you possibly have that I want?"

"Well, why don't you tell me?"

The Caller paused for a moment. "...Fine. Leave me the Orsimer and you can go with the books."

_What_.

"What?" Xander looked at her incredulously.

"Healthy test subjects are so hard to come by, as is high quality manual labour." The Caller looked Dulurza up and down, nodding to herself. "And this way, you don't even have to pay her whatever you've promised for her services."

Dulurza growled. Slavery. Of course. She reached up to her axe and prepared to-

"Done."

_What?_

Xander calmly walked over towards the Caller, flashing her a winning smile. "Go ahead. She's yours."

_You lying, treacherous, weak, weaselling gutter skeever!_

Dulurza scowled, drawing her axe and holding it ready. "I'll kill both of you if I have to."

"Sure thing, gorgeous." Xander yawned. "Mrs Caller, be careful. The Orc's faster than she looks, but you can probably blow her up before she reaches you."

"Hold on." The Caller half-turned to him. "Sword and staves on the floor. No tricks. And know that if you try and light a spell behind my back, I'll know about it."

"Oh, by all means." Xander drew and dropped his sword with a clatter, then undid his staff holster. "I get to watch you put this imbecile in her place. I'll sit and wait."

Dulurza tensed her legs as the Caller turned her attention fully towards her. _She'll be able to get a spell off before I can close, but if I can strafe that-_

That was when the Caller arched her back and screamed.

Behind her, Xander grimaced and withdrew the Orcish dagger, only to plunge it back in a second time, then a third, and Dulurza wasted no time charging forwards, swinging, but there was a purple swirl and suddenly the Caller was across the room, sagging against another of the altars and dripping blood onto the floor.

"You...haah...traitor!" She spat.

"I'm pretty sure what I just did was the _opposite_ of betrayal, but alright." Casually as you please, Xander reached down and picked his staff back up. "Huh. This is low on charge." He pointed it at her.

The weak ward she was able to summon shattered under a single blast of lightning, and another bolt struck her in the head. She teleported again, appearing at the other altar and leaving a flame atronach in her place, but Xander turned and fired once more. This time she couldn't make a defence, and as her body crumpled, so did the Daedra.

There was quiet in the room.

"Don't go trying to enslave my friends." Xander remarked, calmly.

Then he turned to Dulurza, grinning. "So? How did I do?"

Dulurza, who had been staring mutely at him the whole time, pulled her helmet off so she could stare at him more successfully.

"What?" He asked.

"I thought you sold me out!" She shouted.

"What? That's not like me."

"How was _I_ supposed to know that?"

"Well when Calley was done subduing you, she would definitely have killed me." Xander shrugged. "Plus, you're scarier than she is, and this way I get to steal all _her_ stuff as well."

Dulurza sighed. "I should have just gone back to Solitude..."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"Are you _sure_ you're good to do this?" Margret asked, for perhaps the fifth time.

"I'm fine."

"But your hands-"

"I'm fine." Hjar tried to smile through the pain, but it might have come out as more of a grimace. It did hurt, hurt like _Oblivion_, but she didn't want to show it. "Trust me, I can get it all sorted. Are you sure _you_ want to do this? You've helped me more than enough." If Nepos _was_ Forsworn, it would be a lot easier to talk to him if Margret weren't there.

The redhead was adamant, however, shaking her head. "I've come this far, I'm seeing it through. And besides, I'm not letting you go in there alone."

That brought a blush, and a more genuine smile to Hjar's face. "Thanks. Now then, let's see what this old git's up to."

They entered the home they had been directed to, and found that it seemed relatively decadent (though that could have just been the Dwemer architecture). They were almost immediately accosted by a woman in maid's dress, who stood with her arms crossed in the centre of the hallway. "And who are you two?"

"We're here to see Nepos. We have a few questions for him, if that's alright." Margret spoke up, which Hjar was thankful for. She wasn't sure she'd be able to speak without the anger working it's way into her voice.

The maid scowled. "Nepos is not reviewing visitors. I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"It's alright, dear. Let them in." An old man's voice called from inside the next room.

"But sir-"

"I believe I owe these guests an explanation."

The maid sighed, but relented, stepping to the side. "Do _not_ put any strain on him." She looked at them sharply. "He is old, and he needs his rest."

_Rude little wench I_\- Hjar contained her response to a glare and a nod as she walked past, entering the room. Five or so men and women sat around a dining table, giving the visitors cursory nods, but it was the old man sat reading by the fire that waved them over.

"You'll forgive my helper, I hope." Nepos chuckled. "She does tend to get a bit overprotective of me."

"It's not her we have a problem with." Margret crossed her arms and looked down at him. "You're 'N' I presume."

"Yes, that's me." Nepos sighed. "I do apologise for that unsightly business."

"You tried to have me _murdered_."

"I did, yes, but I assure you it wasn't personal. And besides, you can't go spying in a hostile city and not expect repercussions."

"Hmph. Yeah, alright, that's fair."

"So you admit it, then?" Hjar felt hope rise in her chest. "You're a Forsworn?"

"I am." Nepos nodded. "I have been serving my king for many years, now. He sends me letters, and I send young men and women to their deaths."

"Your king?" Margret tilted her head.

"Yes. Madanach." Nepos replied, and Hjar's heart skipped a beat. "He rules the Forsworn from within Cidnah Mine. Thonar Silver-Blood may _own_ the city, but Madanch rules it, and he will one day reclaim the Reach for it's rightful owners."

Hjar took a step back, reeling. She'd been worried, but if _Madanach_ was in charge...well, all she had to do was get Nepos alone, she could explain everything! Her people were _still here_!

And then, Margret spoke.

"Wait a minute. Why are you telling us all this?"

Nepos gave them both a sad smile. "My dear child. What makes you think you'll be leaving here alive?"

Hjar froze.

"Wait." She stammered. "Don't. I'm-"

A mace crunched into the back of her skull.

Bone cracked, blood spilled, and Hjar collapsed to the floor, vision spinning. There was a shout from Margret, and sounds of weapons clashing and a table being overturned.

Dimly, Hjar realised that even if there were no more attacks coming, she was going to die. She didn't even want to know what the back of her head looked like, but a blow like that would kill a normal person, never mind someone with her condition. Her blood was _boiling_ now.

She rolled herself onto one side to see Nepos calmly put down his book and draw a knife, walking over to her.

"Please. Don't." She gasped out, looking up at him.

"My dear, I've already proven I'm willing to kill." He told her. "Why would I stop now?"

"Because...I won't, ngh, be able to stop it if you continue." She answered, blood leaking from her mouth.

That did give him pause for a moment, but only a moment. He walked forwards with the knife, and brought it up.

She groaned, closed her eyes, and let go.

When his knife came down, it stuck into pale white fur.

An arm, coated in the same, came up to grasp his elbow, nails lengthening and sharpening to dig through his fine clothes into his skin.

Amber eyes, glowing, looked up to meet his.

Nepos the Nose had a brief second to be afraid before Hjar lunged up and bit into his neck.

Across the room, behind a furniture barricade, Margret ceased swinging her knives to deter her aggressors to stare in horror at the events happening behind them.

As the noises (initially of screaming but soon only of rending, tearing and biting) began to get louder and louder, the others quickly followed her gaze.

The great white beast that had once been Hjarnagredda looked up at them from Nepos' eviscerated corpse, blood dripping from a maw full of sharp, curved fangs.

"_Werewolf!_" One of the Forsworn screamed.

Then with a roar, it fell upon them.

Margret staggered backwards and sagged against the wall, closing her eyes against the scene in front of her.

It didn't take long for the noises to stop, replaced by a low, heavy panting.

She opened her eyes, and gulped. It was _looking_ at her. It must have been eight feet tall, even hunched as it was, standing on two hind legs but in all other respects resembling a giant, terrifying wolf. Margret's eyes wouldn't stray to what lay around it, but the dark red that had soaked into it's white fur was proof enough of how the combat had gone.

It took a step towards her.

"Stay back!" She pointed one of her daggers out at it, with no idea if the little thing would even break the werewolf's skin, but to her surprise the beast actually moved backwards.

It _whined_.

Then it turned, and fled on all fours out the house.

* * *

**Okay, how many of you did I surprise? Did you notice the little hints I spread through the previous chapters? Don't worry, more about Hjar will be explained next week.**

**Xander proves he's at least a little less selfish (or a little less stupid) than some people think he is, and L'laarzen is still dealing with her own actions. Some more there about her if you're reading closely. **

**Next Time: Someone drinks and makes merry, while someone else drags themselves sopping wet out of a river.**


	7. Partying and Partying

**Last Time: Xander and Dulurza took out the Caller, L'laarzen received a call from Maven Black-Briar, and Hjar revealed the beast inside.**

* * *

**Partying and Partying**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ****8˂**

"Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

Alexander and Dulurza clanged their tankards together and drank. The Honningbrew meadery was busy enough to be comfortable but no so busy as to be crowded. Off by the counter the owner was drinking amicably with the head of Whiterun's guards, but the two recently returned adventurers had picked a table further to the back of the building and couldn't hear what was being said.

"To a successful mission!" Dulurza toasted.

"To friendships made!" Xander echoed.

"To an enchanted set of armour!"

"To as many black mage robes as I can cram in my bag! All of which will be worth _so much_ _money_ once I sew up the holes and clean off the blood!"

Dulurza raised an eyebrow. "You know how to _sew_?"

"Course I do! I'm from Cyrodil high society it's an essential skill." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Something wrong with that?"

"No, not at all, it's a great skill to have."

"Thanks."

"...For the Chief's wives."

"Oi!"

They both laughed good naturedly, and drank some more.

"Oh, right, don't let me forget." Xander reached down to his belt and pulled out Dulurza's dagger. "Here. You told me you wanted it back."

She looked at it for a moment, then waved him off. "No, keep it. You earned it, and you damn well need it. Besides, I can make another one, and you're still enchanting me that necklace."

"You sure you want it done to the one we scrounged off the Caller's body?"

"Obviously. That makes it a trophy."

"You know, we could make a business out of this. You craft stuff, I enchant it, we sell it for buckets of septims."

"Maybe, but I'm not much bothered by coin, and I'm not settling down at a forge this young."

"I still can't get over the fact that you're nineteen." Xander chuckled, sipping at his drink. He heard some crashing noises from down in the cellar, but dismissed it as a clumsy assistant or something. "You know, I've got to do something similar to this down in Falkreath. If you're interested..."

"Thanks, but no." Dulurza declined. "I need to return to Solitude. And while I admit you are not quite the honourless weakling mage I took you for..."

"Thanks?"

"...You do seem to cause trouble everywhere you go."

Xander put a hand on his breast. "Me? A trouble magnet? My dear Orsimer, I have no idea what-"

The door to the cellar slammed open, and a startled Khajit woman made an impressive leap up the stairs to roll across the duo's table (narrowly missing both drinks) and landing on the floor on the other side. Following her up the steps was about five skeevers and a bare chested man with fire in his hands and crazy in his eyes.

"Poisoners! Murderers! None of you understand the truth! I'll tear down this whole house!" He screamed.

Dulurza gave Xander a 'see what I mean' look and reached for her battleaxe.

* * *

A few minutes later, the man had been knocked unconscious, the skeevers had been quickly and unceremoniously dragged out of sight, and the captain of the guard was furiously dragging the owner off to Whiterun prison, after a hysterical confession from the man's second about how 'the madman has been a known factor for years, you see, but I couldn't report it or the boss said he'd fire me...'

The Khajit, introducing herself as L'laarzen, had apologised profusely for interrupting them, and had immediately offered to buy drinks for the whole table for the night, much to both their delight. Interestingly enough, the stand-in barman and tattletale, Mallus Maccius, had easily offered to provide the first round for free, leading to the inevitable question of what L'laarzen had been doing down there in the first place.

"Well." Her ears flicked in what might have been embarrassment. "Khajit was hired by our new patron to perform some...less than pleasant tasks, but was interrupted by the loud, shirtless man living in the rats' nest. She decided that it would be easier and more legal to simply reveal him to the world."

"Hah! That's a much more direct approach than I'd expect from a sneak thief." Dulurza chuckled. "I like you."

"No, L'laarzen is not a _thief_." The Khajit protested. "Just as you who wield an axe are not a woodcutter. L'laarzen is a hair stylist."

Xander perked up. "Hair stylist? Do you do beards?"

L'laarzen squinted at him. "Oh, of course. But you do not have one."

Xander's face fell.

Dulurza snorted.

"And if Khajit could make hair grow, there are many bald Men and Mer who would have made her rich by now." L'laarzen giggled. "But, that does not mean this one is beyond L'laarzen's help. You desire the look of a mage, no? The right tricks with your hair would help, and perhaps Khajit could shave some patterns into what little facial hair you do have, mages do love their swirls and zig-zags..."

Dulurza grinned. "Well all this boy can cast is half a healing spell, so if you can make _him_ look like a mage, then I'll buy the next round."

"Oi! Hey L'laarzen, new challenge, if you can make this seven foot tall death creature look civilised, then _I'll_ pay for a round!"

L'laarzen grinned right back, and reached into her bag for her tools.

Suffice to say, it was a noticeably intoxicated, noticeably well groomed trio that wandered out of Honningbrew Meadery in the early hours of the next morning.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Fog swept through the Reach in the early hours of the next morning.

Guards clutched their torches close and swords closer as they made their rounds between the farms and villages. Farmers opened their curtains, tutted, and closed them again, checking their doors were locked before going to bed for another few hours.

And down by the side of a small river, Hjarnagredda stood up, bare naked, and stretched. A light dusting of fur on the ground around her, and a few lingering bloodstains on her body, were the only signs left of what had happened last night. Except, of course, what was stored in her mind. She walked over to the river, dunked her head under, and _screamed_ as loudly as she could.

She felt absolutely amazing, which always happened right after her transformations. Taking onto and then shedding the form of the beast was a complete reset for her body, a metamorphosis or regeneration that left her completely healed on the tail end. Her broken hands, broken nose, and cracked skull were completely healed, as were the myriad smaller damages she'd accumulated over the last week. Her fragility was the only thing the transformation ever left behind. That and the hunger, of course, and speaking of...

She quickly spotted the elk she'd brought down as a beast, and set to the ritual she'd perfected over years; skinning the animal with a sharp stone, laying the pelt flat on a rock, and building a small fire with which to cook the meat. While it was cooking, she returned to the river, gulping up water until her thirst was satisfied and then diving in to clean herself off. While doing so, she began musing on just when everything had gone so wrong.

She had always been a brittle child. Her parents had said often that the gods had crafted the heart of a lion, the eyes of a raven, and the mind of a daedra, then put them all in the wrong damn body. Living out in the Forsworn camps, the elders had quickly pegged her as a witch doctor, crafter, or if necessary, a gift to the hagravens. That had never satisfied her, however, oh no, she had wanted to be strong. She had wanted to _hunt_.

So who do you pray to, if not the god of the hunt? It certainly seemed that Hircine had been listening.

Yes, Hjarnagredda was a werewolf. Her affliction was not as practical as some, but not as debilitating many. Hircine's blessing seemed to function differently on a case by case basis, from what she'd read, and no one breed was ever quite the same as another. Hjar's...it felt like nothing unlike having a small wolf curled up in the pit of her stomach. At times like now, it was asleep, but it would gradually awaken, and grow angrier and angrier. She could control it to some extent, coax it out early or suppress it, but after about a week? It would always break out. At first, she had laughed, and sung Hircine's praises! She could go out alone of an evening, transform, hunt enough to feed herself and hunt a little more. Come back the next morning with four rabbits swinging from her belt and a deer slung over her shoulders.

Of course, that couldn't last. People had begun to accuse her of cheating somehow, of buying or stealing the kills, and had demanded to follow her on her hunts. She could hardly transform in front of them, meaning she'd been forced to wait and release the beast at other times. Less opportune times.

It had been about six months before they caught her; three of her fellow Forsworn had snuck out after her one night and watched her transform. They had screamed, called her a monster, and sworn to tell the camp elders about her so she would be killed.

So, in her blood haze, she had killed them.

Hjar emerged from the river, shaking the worst of the water and the memories off, and sat by the fire, turning the meat.

She'd lived alone, for years, in the woods between Falkreath and Markarth. She'd scavenged as herself and hunted as the beast. And then when she'd returned to her home city?

Too much violence in too short a time. She should have been able to last another four days without an outburst, but, well, her imminent death had been more than motivation enough to speed up the process.

She decided, in hindsight, that she didn't regret doing it, as her teeth bit down into the meat. Even her cursed life was more appealing than Oblivion; _I mean come on, I haven't even hit thirty years yet_.

But that just left her with the new question; _what in Azura's name am I going to do now?_

She finished up as much of the elk as she could, leaving the rest for the real wolves. Once the pelt was dried, she fashioned it into some makeshift clothing, and wrapped herself up until she was halfway decent. Looking at her reflection in the water, she had to laugh. _Well, you sure look a proper Forsworn now._

After a moment, the image changed, and Hjar caught a glimpse of Margret's horrified expression in the water.

That earned a scowl. Walking away from then edge, she returned to the elk carcass, and pulled its skull free from its remains. She broke a stick from a nearby tree, dug it into the ground, and hung the skull from the top. She curtseyed before the grisly totem. "For you, lord Hircine. I can't even be mad at you. Much as I'd like to be. Oh, and Molag Bal says hello."

The totem didn't reply as she turned away, and began to climb the tallest hill she could see to get her bearings. The only thing she could still think to do was what Molag Bal had told her to. Find this 'Logrolf' character.

_Divines know what would happen if I pissed off _another _daedric prince._

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| **

"They're getting bolder, my lady. It may not be a significant matter to the security here, but trade caravans heading into the city have been affected."

"Its not that I don't recognise the issue, Falk, but I lack the capacity to do anything about it. Solitude's guard is weaker than it's ever been..."

Dulurza noted, with some satisfaction, that Elisif seemed to be standing up for herself more.

She walked up into the Blue Palace to see the Jarl holding court (seemed to be all she ever did) with many of the familiar figures around the keep.

Elisif did seem to straighten once she saw the Orc climb up the steps, holding up a hand to stall Falk in whatever he was saying.

"Dulurza, you have returned. Were you able to complete the task I set?"

"Yes, my Jarl." Dulurza replied, working her tongue around the unfamiliar form of address. "I got caught up dismantling a criminal group near Whiterun, so I'm sorry if I'm back late."

"Not at all." Elisif smiled. "Jarl Balgruuf can only be more endeared to us by you solving problems in his hold. And...thank you. You've done me a great service."

Dulurza nodded, then reached into one of the pockets in her armour. She knelt before Elisif's throne, and drew out the jewelled silver amulet. "A gift. It's enchanted to grant you better protection."

"O-oh." Elisif blushed, looking down at her. "Thank you, only, what have I done to merit this?"

"It's customary for an Orc to bring back a tribute after being sent on a mission." Dulurza explained, not looking up. "And I thought it might be distressing if I brought back a severed head."

Elisif laughed, as did a few members of the court, and Dulurza realised they probably thought it was a joke.

"Well then, thank you very much for your consideration." Elisif accepted the gift, fastening it around her neck. "I imagine the servants might be quite put out by having to deal with the mess of a...severed head."

"I'll keep that in mind, my Jarl."

"If my lady is quite finished," drawled Stentor, "then we must get back to the matter of the raids. The barbarism of the attacks has one obvious culprit." She fixed Dulurza with a steely gaze. "Perhaps the mercenary would care to tell us why Orcs are raiding trade caravans to Solitude?"

Dulurza snorted. "What? Orcs aren't doing this."

Sybille's eyes narrowed. "Oh really. What makes you so sure?"

_"Because the chief ordered us not to arouse suspicion from Solitude while we prepare to attack it." _Was the truth, but Dulurza supposed that wouldn't be a well received response. She bit her lip. "Well, do you have a map?"

Falk gestured to a large one on a table, and Dulurza walked over. "Where were the attacks?"

Apparently, on the route leading up between Solitude and Morthal. "Thought so. Well for one thing, no self respecting Orc camp would raid supplies unless they were at war. It's a sign that you aren't capable of surviving on your own, so have to steal from others. We pride ourselves on our independence. And for another," _I've always wanted to do this_, she pulled a knife from her belt and jabbed it into the map. Everyone in the room winced, and Falk muttered "that was imported..." under his breath.

"The Haafingar Orc stronghold is up in that area." She declared, patting the hilt of the knife, embedded west-northwest of the capital. "If they _were_ to raid, they'd do it on the route in from Dragonbridge, not Morthal."

"Unless they were demonstrating a little more brain matter than I thought they possessed." Sybil muttered.

"Then what do you suggest?" Elisif asked. "Who _is_ raiding us?"

Dulurza leaned over the map and thought. "Well, for one thing, aren't you at war with those Stormcloaks?" She offered.

Sybille shook her head. "Not possible. If there were a Stormcloaks camp in Haafingar, I would have found it."

"Because you've been so reliable before..." Dulurza muttered, and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Elisif hid a smile behind one hand. "But if not them...there are those crazy Reach folk, aren't there? This isn't far out of their usual range."

"Forsworn?" Elisif frowned. "Jarl Igmund has promised Skyrim that they are under control, and confined to the Reach. I doubt they would be so bold as to cross into Haafingar territory and risk angering another hold."

"Actually," coughed a man in Imperial garb, an envoy of General Tullius, "We have a spy in Markarth who reports that the Forsworn have become significantly more active of late. She herself has been attacked multiple times within Markarth's walls, and even members of the Silver-Blood family dedicated to corralling the Reachmen have been targeted. It is possible that these insurrectionists are also attempting to expand."

"'Not that we can send the guard to go check." Falk huffed. "Our best bet is to just tell Igmund to crack down on them and hope it's enough."

"Actually," Elisif pointed out, "we may not have to." She looked across at Dulurza.

"My lady, please, I must object." Stentor cut in. "It is unwise to delegate so much responsibility onto one mercenary-"

"Would you like to go yourself, Sybille?" Elisif asked, cutting across her. When all she got was silence, she continued. "Then we are remarkably low on other options. Besides, investigating attacks like this is the reason Dulurza was hired in the first place." She turned back to the Orc. "I apologise for giving you a new task so soon after returning, but-"

"Not at all, my Jarl." Dulurza bowed, and gave Stentor a smug look. "I'll get on it within the hour. And if there is a Forsworn camp attacking you...well, there soon won't be."

_Nobody brings Solitude to its knees except Mor Khazgur._

* * *

**8˂**

"It's not that bad, ma'am, if you would let me-"

"Oh, how droll. Allow me to make a counter offer. You leave right now and I won't summon the Dark Brotherhood upon you."

The door slammed open and a terrified looking young girl bolted out, desperately offering apologies as she scarpered.

L'laarzen let her pass, then peered in through the doorway to see an irate looking Maven Black-Briar.

"Tell me you bring _good_ news." The matriarch snarled.

L'laarzen winced. "Perhaps not _good_, but I was successful."

She handed over the missive she'd found in Sabjorn's room. Maven's eyes scanned quickly over it. "Well, this doesn't tell us anything. Someone was paying Sabjorn to resist me, but all we have to go on is this letter."

"The same initial as was on the bill of sale, in Goldenglow Estate." L'laarzen nodded. "Someone is trying to drive a wedge between your family and the thieves guild."

"Then they've made a mistake. Now my eyes are on _them_."

Maven looked up at her, folding the letter and handing it back. "You have performed your duties adequately, and will be suitably paid. Bring this back to your guild master, perhaps he will be able to make some use of it."

"Thank you." L'laarzen took the paper and bowed. She made to leave, but paused. "What was the problem you had before I entered? That girl seemed scared half to death."

Maven's expression soured further. "I have a meeting with representatives of the Aldmeri dominion in an hour. That feckless waif was my hair and makeup, but clearly has no idea what she's doing. A traditional Nordic double braid for a meeting with the Altmer? I should think she was trying to kill me."

L'laarzen tutted. "Oh, amateur. Might Khajit suggest a Potemic wolftail? It borrows heavily from Summerset style, but is seperate enough that they won't think you're trying to outdo them."

Maven gave her a calculating look. "Perhaps, but there's not one stylist in ten who can put a Nord's hair in that braid. I don't have anyone who could get here to do it in time."

"Actually..." L'laarzen smiled at her. "You do."

Maven tilted her head. "I've heard about your little games in the marketplace, I thought it was just a cover. Do you actually know what you're doing?"

"L'laarzen is the best hairdresser on Mundus." She replied, unflinchingly. "And probably on Masser and Secunda as well."

Something in her confidence (confidence well earned) seemed to resonate with the Black-Briar.

"If you ruin this for me, I will have every freelance organisation in Skyrim after your head." Threatened the businesswoman.

"If Khajit could not perform under pressure, she would not be a professional." L'laarzen reached into her satchel, challenge gleaming in her eyes. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar was, admittedly, quite impressed with how well the Orc was sneaking. _She moves like a hunter._ She realised. _And a good one, even if she's seven feet tall. Course, I imagine she isn't usually wearing full plate armour while she's doing that...oh, I see..._

Hjar crept up until she was just out of axe range behind the woman, before straightening and casually asking "Who was it that you got to put muffle on those boots? They did good-"

_Swoosh-_

_HIRCINE'S LEFT TESTACLE-_

Hjar tried not to move as the blade came to rest upon her neck, mentally reevaluating her idea of 'out of axe range'. "...work."

_Wasn't expecting her to be able to single-hand it and keep it steady when holding the far end of it I would _kill _for this woman's arms-_

"State why I shouldn't kill you." The Orc glanced down her form, noting her simple fur clothing. "Forsworn."

"Because I'm _not_ a Forsworn." Hjar lied, sort of, not sure if she even classed as one at the moment, "And I'm here for the same reason you are."

"Really?" The Orc's axe hadn't so much as wavered yet. "What would that be?"

"You've been scouting Deepwood redoubt for the past twenty minutes." Hjar replied, listing her observations. "And it's standard Orc doctrine to do that before raiding a location. Not to mention this is one of the newer, northmost Forsworn camps, meaning it's spreading into both your territory and Solitude's. You're here to tear this place to the ground."

"You're one of those big-brain types, aren't you?" The Orc asked.

"I like to think so." Hjar responded. When you couldn't use muscles to solve a problem, you learned to observe everything very closely. Finding the most efficient approach was a good way to compensate for lacking power.

"So why did you decide to approach me?" The Orc still hadn't let the axe waver, it had been almost a _minute_ now.

"Because, frankly, same." Hjar smiled. "There's a man in here that's been kidnapped, and I'm here to break him out. If I was alone, I would have to try something stealthy. But working with you..."

The Orc bit her lip, stood silently for another few seconds, then smoothly pulled the axe back and resheathed it, holding out her other arm. "I'm Dulurza."

"Hjarnagredda." Hjar replied, shaking it. "Call me Hjar."

"Hjar, you're lucky I've had good experience with working as a pair recently." Dulurza said. "But keep in mind that if you try and stab me in the back I'll kill you before the knife's gone half an inch."

"No problem." Hjar replied, rubbing her neck self consciously. "But seriously, who enchanted the boots?"

"The good experience." Dulurza replied, making no move to extrapolate.

"Alright then." Hjar moved past her to look out through the trees. The camp was busy, alright, she could spot half a dozen hostiles on the outside alone. "So. Given I'm a native of these parts, would you like me to give you the rundown on Forsworn tactics and defences?"

* * *

"On your left!"

Dulurza ducked the swing of the Forsworn sword (whether that was due to Hjar's warning or not, she couldn't tell) and Hjar darted into the opening to deliver an upward strike to the attacker's jaw, staggering him backwards.

Dulurza certainly took advantage of the moment, spinning a full circle and decapitating the man outright.

Hjar fell back a moment to catch her breath, switching the mace to her other hand and shaking out her wrist. She had found that she was always at her strongest right after the transformation, but that burst of strength was quickly fading, to be replaced by sore arms and shortness of breath. Also fading was the pang of guilt she felt every time she put a Forsworn to death. Four of the bleeding men and women they had left in their wake were her kills alone, and they'd failed to produce anything other than a dull throb in her heart. Atereffects of the wolf? Or was she just losing all morales? All she knew was, every time she began to think too hard about what she was doing...up popped an image of Betrid. Of Margret. Terrified, almost dying because of what these people were doing. _The Forsworn I know wouldn't slaughter innocent people, Nords or no...what's going on?_

"That seems to be the last of them." Dulurza remarked, wiping off her blade. "I vote we split up. You go look for your prisoner, I'll do my thing."

"Got it." Hjar shook her head to dispel the reverie, and went.

She found her target a few minutes later, among an assortment of tents.

Logrolf the Wilful was...pretty much exactly what you'd expect someone with that name and title to be.

"And who in Oblivion are you?" The bearded old man hacked, squinting up at a Hjar as she walked in.

"Easy, old man." She told him, wrinkling her nose against the smell of the tent. It seemed he'd been kept bound on his knees for...a while, to say the least. "I'm no Forsworn. You want up?"

"Who sent you?" He demanded, for some reason _angry_ that she was trying to _rescue_ him. "Nobody knew where I was."

"I'm not _here_ for you." she snapped back, the genuine anger helping her sell the lie. "For Hircine's sake, I'm just helping my friend loot this place. Do you want me to cut your bonds or do I leave you here to starve?"

"Hmph. Fine." He acquiesced, turning to give her easier access to his tied hands. "Then you'd better get out of my way. There's a task I need to attend to."

"Whatever, asshole." She leaned down with a knife and cut him free.

He had the audacity to shove her aside as he left, and she gasped after him in genuine astonishment. _Old bastard. I hope you get whatever Molag's got coming to you. _

The wolf in her stomach growled in agreement, and she told it to shut up.

Back outside, Hjar found Dulurza inspecting a trashed cart in the centre of the camp.

"Hey, Big-brain." She called over. "Come take a look at this, what do you make of it?"

Hjar gave the cart a once-over, taking in the long dead occupants, the empty crates in the back, and the burn marks on the sides. Nodding, she walked over to the richest dressed body and started rummaging through his pockets. "Looks to me like a supply raid. Forsworn came in, butchered the traders, brought their cart back here and unloaded. And..." she pulled out a small leather bound tome, flicked through it to confirm its contents, and threw it over. "That's a record of his sales and shipment. This what you were hired for, tracking down the missing order?"

"Pretty much." Dulurza nodded, catching the book. "And this is a record of it?"

"Check for yourself."

The Orc bit her lip. "I...can't read Imperial characters."

Hjar tried very hard not to laugh. "Well, yes, it is." She looked back at the cart and grimaced. "Only issue is, Forsworn don't usually do things like that. The plan is to be recognised as a nation, we would never have killed innocent traders back when-"

"We?" Dulurza asked.

Hjar winced and the Orc tilted her head. "What's wrong? Something's been bothering you ever since we met."

"You mean ever since you put an axe in my face?" The humour failed entirely to move Dulurza, and Hjar sighed and leaned back against the cart. "I'm having a full blown no-face crisis, that's what's wrong."

Dulurza frowned, and met her eyes. "You don't know who you are?"

"Huh, Orc tribes have that phrase too?"

"It happens more often than you'd think. When it's not uncommon to have to kill a family member in your lifetime, Orcs sometimes can forget what really matters." Dulurza raised an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?"

Hjar laughed. "So you're, what, a battle-therapist?"

"You're using humour to avoid showing weakness."

"Oof. And a good one." Hjar blew out a breath. "Alright, you want the list?

I used to be a Forsworn. I believed what we were doing was right, I think I still do, only they keep doing things that I can't imagine my people ever doing. Not to mention, I keep _killing_ them, in part because of this...condition I have that makes me lose control, and in part because of a terrible run of bad luck and worse choices. And now I don't even seem to feel anything when I do it. Only if I'm not a Forsworn, then what do I do next? The only other ties I have are a half finished quest for a Daedric Prince, and a cute girl back in Markarth who thinks I'm a monster.

So yeah. Who in Oblivion am I?"

Dulurza listened to the rant in silence, nodding slowly once it was finished.

"Short fight, mid fight, and long fight." She said, after a while.

"Come again?"

"Orc teaching. Works for everything, I'm trying to apply it to this." Dulurza crossed her arms and furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. "Who you are is based on what you want. What you care about, what you don't care about, what you won't let stand. Middle stuff is 'I always keep my axe sharpened, make sure to stay on the baker's good side', stuff like that. Long stuff is what you're struggling with now. 'What cause do I fight for, who are my people?'."

She walked over and put a hand on Hjar's shoulder. "If you're not sure who you are, you start with the short stuff. Who do I like? Who do I not like? In the simplest, moment by moment actions, what's good and what's bad? You build the rest up from there."

"I might not have enough time to rebuild a whole sense of self." Hjar chuckled weakly.

"You're strong. You'll figure it out." Dulurza turned and started walking. "I've got to go report this. Good luck in your Daedric Quest."

"Thanks." Hjar replied, automatically, still digesting the Orc's words. "You too."

"And good luck getting the cute girl to like you again."

Hjar spluttered, but by the time she could formulate a response, Dulurza was gone.

* * *

**If you look into Skyrim lore, you'll find that the companions variant is only one of many ways lycanthropy works. So this is how Hjar's does. My brain went 'ooh, weakling who turns into a giant murder beast' and started plotting.**

**Next time: Someone wakes up drunk, someone will not shut up, and lots of people do lots of travelling around.**


	8. Cry Wolf

**Last Time: Alexander had a wild night out, L'laarzen returned to Riften, and Dulurza and Hjar raided a Forsworn camp, freeing Logrolf.**

* * *

**Cry Wolf**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"**...DOH! VAH! KIIN!**"

Xander's eyes snapped open as he darted upright as the Shout rumbled through the plains and then the pain in his head spiked and the light was in his eyes and there was just a whole lot of _oooowww_ for the next thirty seconds.

Eventually, he was able to stumble to his feet, nursing a headache, and take his bearings. He was in...the stables. Whiterun stables. On hay. There was a horse in the stall next to his, which gave him a curious look before turning away._ This is exactly why auntie banned me from drinking...please tell me this wasn't anything like the Incident with the Chicken Feathers-wait! More importantly!_

"Hail, friend!" He called to a man also in the stables, though this guy looked like he actually belonged there. "Who just shouted 'Dragonborn' in the dragon language?"

"Oh, you're finally up." The stablehand looked him over and wrinkled his nose. "Bout time. You were startling the horses. That was the Greybeards from up on High Hrothgar, I reckon."

"Greybeards?" Xander gaped. "From _High Hrothgar_?"

"That's...what I said, aye."

"But they only speak to announce the coming of the Dragonborn! They haven't called out to Skyrim since they summoned _Talos_!"

The stablehand shrugged, "Well you seem to think they said 'Dragonborn', so that'd make sense."

"But-But who's the dragonborn?"

"Probably the fella who just killed a dragon."

_"WHAT?"_ Xander practically screeched, then immediately regretted it, as his hangover moved to punish him for his hubris with more pain.

"Dragon, attacked that watchtower over there." The man pointed. "Didn't believe the stories of them coming back, but I saw that one with my own eyes. Then apparently someone went over and killed it, and then ate it or something. All the flesh's gone, it's just a skeleton now."

Xander almost fainted again, staggering backwards as his mind worked overtime, everything he had just heard locked into place with the dozens of books he'd read on what had to be the most amazing creatures in all of Tamriel's history, and one crazy prediction he'd made a couple years ago that had been one of the last straws in him being kicked out of the Synod. _Misrule, three towers, dragonborn emperor, and if the civil war here constitutes the line about the snow tower... _

"You're telling me." He said, slowly, "That in accordance with prophecies of old, Alduin the World Eater has returned to cause his dragon brethren to rise from the dead, one of which had chosen to attack Whiterun hold, before being slain and having its soul consumed by the Last Dragonborn..._and I slept through it?!_"

"Mead'll do that to you." The stablehand shrugged, apparently entirely unconcerned with the sheer magnitude of what was going on. "This one time me and the lads went out and-"

"Where's it's carcass?" Xander snapped.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

The abandoned house was just as Hjar had left it. Dark, dusty, still on Markarth high street.

_Safest city in the Reach, my ass. Only because it's the _only _city in the Reach. _

She had caught up with Logrolf a few hours out of the Forsworn camp, and tailed him all the way back into the city. A lot of time to think, when you're moving at an elderly man's speed across most of a hold.

So, it was with a completely deadpan expression that she moved to lean against the back wall of the underground croft, as Logrolf walked up to the altar.

Hjar had expected many things, but a _cage_ of _spikes_ appearing from the floor to entrap him was not one of them.

"Molag Bal?" Logrolf shouted, from within the bars. "You dare test Boethia's faithf-"

"**Would you kindly **_**Shut Up**_." Declared the booming, sourceless voice of a Daedric Prince. "**I had hoped that a kidnapping would have dulled your vocal chords, or perhaps that the Reachmen might have cut out your tongue**."

"Captain Domination has a point." Hjar announced, causing Logrolf to turn around and look at her. "You are really loud. You talk to _yourself_, while you're walking alone in the hills."

"You?" He snarled at her. "You Breton, backwater, gutter-wretch! I should have known someone so vile of appearance would be a servant of this disgusting god!"

The wolf inside her growled.

"Wow. You do not have a 'medium effort' mode, do you." Hjar replied, acting unimpressed, turning to look up at the altar. "Here's your prize, Bal. Are we done here?"

"**No**." Came the voice. "**We are not. Observe my Mace, daughter of the Forsworn. What strikes you about its appearance?**"

Hjar walked over to the floating brown mace she'd been wanting to ask about since she first entered, ignoring Logrolf's continued shouting. "Scary faces. Daedric writing. Rust."

"**Rust. Decay. It has languished here for too long. It is time it was whetted. Take it.**"

_I don't like where this is going... _Hjar reached out and grabbed the mace by the hilt, pulling it free from...mid air? Whatever magics were holding it there, it came free in her hand without so much as a tug.

"**Logrolf refuses to bow to me. **_**Break**_ **him**."

"Excuse me?" Hjar gave the altar an incredulous look.

"As if this pathetic wench's swings could ever break me!" Logrolf laughed.

"**Do not pretend to misunderstand me, mortal, I find it tiring. Crush him. **_**Break**_ **him. Bring about his suffering, until he begs for my mercy. Only when he submits his soul to me will he be spared your wrath**."

"Okay, _no_." Hjar shook her head. "I'm not a torturer. You want me to beat him half to death while he's sat in a cage?"

"**My servants do not go unrewarded, daughter of the Forsworn. Bleed my mace, and it will be restored to its true glory. The Mace of Molag Bal will be yours to wield, bringing Domination to your enemies. On the other hand...**" the cave rumbled around her. "**My will is not to be denied, girl. The wrath of a Daedric Prince is great and terrible, and will crush one of your fragility like a mountain atop the carapace of a mudcrab.**"

"How poetic." The snarky response came without any conscious thought, she was busy trying not to shake as she turned back to the cage. A Daedric artefact. For her. For that alone, most of her compatriots in the Forsworn would not have hesitated. More importantly, he was threatening her. She was being _threatened_ by a _Daedric Prince_. What would he do? Drive her mad, like he had the Vigilant? Send his disciples after her? Perhaps he would just collapse the cave on top of her, leaving her to be crushed beneath stone or suffocate to death where nobody else would ever find her.

And then there was the matter of the target.

"Well then? What are you waiting for, you worthless little quim?" Logrolf spat, managing to hit her bare midriff with his saliva. "_You_ are to be Molag Bal's champion? Oh, how precious. And he calls himself mighty? Try me, little girl, if you can even bring up the gall to strike me. Be careful, you might see _blood_, I hope you don't find that frightening."

"You need to shut up." She told him, pointing the mace.

"No, I don't think I do." He had the nerve to grin at her. "You could never break the will of the mighty Logrolf. I will enjoy watching as your _pitiful_ lord grows tired of your _pitiful_ efforts, and laugh as he punishes you for them."

The wolf was growling loudly now. It had taken too long to walk back to Markarth, her week was up and she was seeing red.

"You have no idea what I am capable of, you _pathetic_ little man." She snarled at him, walking up to the edge of the cage.

"Don't I?" He replied. "You, who could not free me without help? You, who trailed after me like a kicked puppy as I made my way back here? Oh, don't think you were able to escape my notice. I think I know quite well what you are capable of. I find you _lacking_."

Hjar snapped. She lashed out with one foot, kicking Logrolf backwards. He slammed off the back of the cafe and bounced forwards, where she grabbed him by the front of his robes.

"Let's see who's _lacking_ when we're finished." She spat in his face, see how _he_ likes it, and then she brought the mace up before swinging it down to-

_Who am I?_

The mace froze in place, inches from Logrolf's face.

Hjar paused. Breathed in, and out, and in, and out again, until the red subsided from her vision. The wolf whined in protest, and she angrily wrestled it down.

Start with the short stuff, Dulurza had said.

_Look inside yourself and say; 'what am I willing to put up with today?'_ Came the thought, in Margret's voice.

Hjar's voice replied: _Not this._

She let go of Logrolf, and stepped back from the cage.

"No." She said aloud.

"**No?**" Said Molag Bal.

"No?" Said Logrolf. "Ha! I should have-"

Hjar punched him in the nose. "Oh shut up, the adults are talking. No, Lord Bal. I won't."

"**You would **_**defy**_ **me?**"

"Oh, I would." She turned, pointing the mace back at the altar. "As much as he _is_ a prick, I'm not going to beat up an old man in a cage. I'm just not."

"Why?"

Hjar smiled. "Because it's not who I am."

The cave rumbled again. Stones clattered down the walls and the gap up to daylight above shrunk.

"**Foolish mortal. You would defy me? The Daedric Prince of domination? The mace will be whetted. You **_**will**_ **submit!**"

Hjar paused. Shrugged. Then she lifted up one hand and slammed it down atop the mace. The tip went straight through her palm, and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Blood oozed down onto the weapon, trickling down its grooves.

"There. Whetted." She bit out through the pain. "Now if you want to let him out to have a proper crack at me, go ahead. If you want this thing back, just give me the word. But I'm walking out of here, and it won't be with him dead in that cage."

"If you choose to resist me, nothing can protect you from my wrath." Came the voice. It was low, threatening, promising every torment that a Daedra could conceive.

She smiled. "Alright. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

There was silence.

Then Molag Bal began to laugh.

It started quiet, then grew, echoing around the chamber. Logrolf winced at the volume, but Hjar was careful not to show any reaction. What did catch her attention was the mace. As the blood flowed down it, the rust began to flake off, shavings of brown falling to mingle with the drops of red on the floor.

What was left in her hand was black iron, wickedly sharp, shimmering with green magic. A _real_ Deadeic artefact. _What the..._

"**You have a spark of tenacity in you, girl.**" Molag Bal told her. "**I relish it. Submission is what I require in my slaves, but my _champion_ must demonstrate the opposite traits. Resolve. Strength of will. Refusal to bend, even in the face of overwhelming threat. Even in the face of **_**me**_**. I name you my champion, Hjarnagredda of the Reach**."

There was a smooth _shiing_, and the spikes retracted into the floor. Logrolf took one look at her, and fled up through the cave mouth.

"**He is your problem now**." The Daedra chuckled. "**Now, go. Use my mace. Enforce your will upon the world, bring my glory to those filthy mortals and show them your power**."

"I'm not doing this in _your_ name." Hjar warned him.

"**Oh, I know. Despite all this, your soul remains your own. That's what makes you so entertaining**." With one final laugh, the voice quieted to nothingness. His presence receded from the room.

Hjar took the opportunity to sink against the cave wall in relief.

"That guy is really dedicated to his schtick." She breathed, before looking for something to wrap up her bleeding hand.

* * *

**8˂**

"I am beginning to think," Rune said, shuffling in his seat, "that I've made a really big mistake."

"Oh, not at all, friend!" L'laarzen told him, wielding scissors in what she hoped _wasn't_ an incredibly threatening manner, "You have made an excellent choice in accepting our help!"

"Listen to the Khajiit, darling." Said Galathil, the face sculptor, grabbing hold of his cheeks and scrutinising him. "You have such promising features, if you spent a little more time in the sun-"

"Care to tell me what's going on here?" All three turned to see Mercer staring at them with his arms crossed.

"I made the mistake of telling them I had a date." Rune sighed.

"I'm hair!" L'laarzen beamed.

"I'm makeup." Galathil explained.

"Right." Mercer shook his head. "Well, I'm going to need 'hair' to come with me. I have a job for her."

L'laarzen pouted, but apologised to Rune and walked over to her Guildmaster. "What's the job, friend?"

"We have a lead on the person who's trying to ruin us." Mercer explained, walking away and prompting L'laarzen to catch up. "This letter you brought back does mention a name. An alias, for one of our agents called Golum-Ei, up in Solitude. I'm sending you up there. Find him, and find out what he knows."

L'laarzen's whiskers twitched in annoyance. _Khajit only just got back..._ "Very well. Anything else L'laarzen should know?"

"Don't kill him." Mercer emphasised. "He's a valuable agent, we need him alive. And make sure to watch yourself. According to reports, things in Solitude are...tense."

* * *

** ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza walked into the Blue Palace, past guards who by now were so used to her they barely turned their heads as she passed.

"My Jarl." She called, smiling in anticipation of seeing Stentor's reaction. "I found out who-"

Falk Firebeard grabbed her before she could finish, pulling her into a side corridor. "Sorry to stop your inevitable gloating, but we have a bigger issue."

Dulurza frowned, looking down at him. "More important than attacks on your trade caravans? What's happening?"

Falk breathed in, then out again. "Well...it's ghosts."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

_Falkreath is, by far, the most miserable city in Skyrim._ Xander tried his hardest not to wrinkle his nose up as he walked through the gate (_why does it even have one of those if it doesn't have a wall?_) and walked into the dank, misty, muddy, gross, village-looking excuse for a settlement. His general plan was to find an inn, crash for the night, hire a mercenary if he could find one and raid the murder-cultists the next morning.

That plan had not included dealing with a funeral.

He couldn't help but awkwardly linger on the outskirts of the graveyard as the priest gave a speech. From the looks of things, the victim had been someone everyone had respected; there were a good dozen people stood there (which must have constituted half the 'city').

"Who was it?" He asked one of them, tentatively.

"A young girl." The citizen replied, teary eyed. "She was murdered."

"Oh." _How in Oblivion do I respond to something like that?_

Fortunately, the woman seemed willing to continue unprompted. "It was Sindig." She spat. "That madman. When we found the girl she was...by the divines, what kind of monster would do something like that?"

"Was he caught?" Xander asked.

"Turned himself in." The woman shook her head in disgust. "Couldn't seem to decide whether to plead innocent or beg forgiveness. They locked him up in the jail, if you wanna go take a look."

Xander shook his head and stepped back. "Oh, no. I mean, this is horrible, but it's not like I'm going to go stare at the guy who killed a young girl, that would be-"

* * *

"Come to gawk at the monster, have you?" Sindig looked up from his cell.

"What? Uh, no." Xander scoffed, leaning away from the bars. "That would, no, not me. I'm actually looking for _Eric_'s cell, is that not this one-"

"It's fine." The man sighed, looking down dejectedly. "I certainly deserve it."

"So what did you do?" Xander pressed his face back against the bars. "Did you kill her? How did you do it? Details!"

"You're...weirdly interested in this." The man tilted his head.

"Sorry." He winced. "I'm from Cyrodil. Murder mystery drama is like, _the_ entertainment there."

"As in books and plays?"

"No; as in _actual_ murders. Assassination happens all the time nowadays, it's massively entertaining. I wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to kill the emperor."

"Now that would be something." Sindig chuckled. "It wasn't me, you know. It was this blasted ring."

If Xander's curiosity hadn't already been piqued, that would have been the piquing incident. "Ring?"

Sindig stood up, walking towards the bars. He held up one hand, which bore a silver ring with a wolf's head emblazoned onto it. "This. It's-"

"The ring of Hircine a Daedric artefact that bestows upon werewolves additional control over their transformations gifted upon currying Hircine's favour?" Xander interrupted, all in one breath.

"...Yes." Sindig replied, perturbed. "You know about it?"

"Do I? The only two things in Mundus more interesting than _murders_ are Dragons and Daedra." Xander shrugged. "So...you're a werewolf then?"

"Aye." Sindig nodded. "I stole this ring in the hopes that it would help me control myself...but it seems Hircine wasn't too pleased with that." He held it up to the hole in the roof. Rather than reflecting the moon cleanly, the ring seemed to shimmer with black light. "It's cursed. Forces me to transform without warning. I never would have wanted to hurt that girl, I just..."

"Ouch." Xander winced. "I'm sorry. You seem like a good enough man, you don't deserve this."

Sindig paused, then looked at him. "I know this is a long shot, but could you-"

"Take the ring? Yes, absolutely."

"...Well, aye. Rumour has it that there's a great white stag haunting the woods nearby. If you could kill it, you might gain Hircine's favour. Ask him to restore the ring. But there's nothing _I_ can do from in here."

"I mean, I'm currently _on_ a Daedric quest." Xander told him, sheepishly. "And I'm not much of a hunter. But..." _magic Daedric artefact~ _"I can try."

Sindig's face lifted. "Thank you! Thank you a thousand times." He pulled the ring off his finger and held it out. "Here. I can't be rid of it unless I give it to someone else."

Xander reached in through the bars, then paused. "This isn't going to do anything to _me_, is it?"

"You're not a werewolf, so I see no reason why it should."

"Yeah, good point." Xander took the ring. Slowly, carefully, he slipped it onto his finger.

...

...

...And nothing happened.

"Huh. Awesome, I'll go then."

* * *

And then he exploded.

* * *

Sindig, in werewolf form, clambered up onto the prison roof, and watched as another beast tore out of the prison doors, bowling over one of the guards before taking off towards the lake. He pitied the stranger, but wasn't going to waste his chance and put more people in danger. He turned, and fled into the woods.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar made it about about halfway to the exit of Markarth before she caught the smell. The fact that her senses were so heightened was evidence that the wolf was still lurking dangerously close to the surface, and that she needed to get into the hills and let it out fast. That said, she couldn't help but stop, grimace, and turn around.

Margret stood there in the street, eyes wide. Her arms were full of groceries, she was probably on her way back from a morning food run.

"You haven't done your hair up." Hjar said, lamely. Her brain helpfully started making all sorts of deductions about the redhead, absolutely none of which were relevant right now.

"I've been a bit preoccupied." Margret replied, the shock not leaving her face, "The city's going crazy since you...since Nepos died. Guards are trying to suppress it but people are taking notice. Everyone's on edge, waiting for something big to happen."

Hjar nodded, mutely.

They were stood on the high street, and other citizens of Markarth walked around them without taking much notice. Seconds ticked past.

Margret gulped. "Is it...was it a one time thing, or-"

"Still here." Hjar replied, avoiding her eyes. "It's just...part of me."

"Is it going to happen again soon?"

"Soon, but not immediately."

"You..." Margret didn't seem to know what face to make. "Why did you spare me?"

"I can control it, to an extent." Hjar explained. "And...I didn't want to hurt you. _Don't_ want to." She breathed in deeply. "Margret I-" she took a rapid couple of steps forwards, hand outstretched, but Margret back-pedalled just as many.

The hand fell. "R-Right. I...I need to go." She turned and began walking back towards the entrance.

"What are you going to do now?" Margret called after her, making her halt again.

And wasn't that always the question? "There's a rumour." Hjar replied, not turning. "Something about rings and white stags." At her hip, the Mace of Molag Bal glowed, and she narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to take back control. Of my curse, of my life...of all of it."

She looked back and met Margret's eyes. "Then I'll come back, and I'll be able to promise you you can trust me. If...if you ever want me to."

Margret nodded. She clenched shut her eyes for a few seconds, but when she reopened them, they were hopeful. "When you can promise? Please come back."

Hjar didn't respond, walking off towards the gates.

Further up the street, Logrolf the Willful watched them both.

* * *

**DRAMA!**

**I imagine you can see how the characters have been set up to interact from here on out. If you feel like the pacing's a little strange, congratulations! You win a cookie.**

**Two cookies if you can spot all the references I keep hiding in these things.**

**Next time: Everyone's just really sick of ghosts, to be honest.**


	9. Rage

**Last Time: Xander claimed the ring of Hircine, Hjar became Molag Bal's champion, L'laarzen was sent to Solitude, and Dulurza was sent back out after ghosts.**

* * *

**Rage**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o **** ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

The worst part, Xander decided, was the fact that he'd had to sneak _back_ into Falkreath to get back all his stuff. The swim across the lake had been bearable the first time, when he'd made it as a giant muscly furry monster. It had been less bearable trying to pull the same trick in _reverse_, as a naked, unfit, spindly human. _Why did wolf-me decide he was going to stop on the island in the middle of the lake? Was it because of that stupid standing stone? I tried praying to it, nothing happened._

Other runners up in the Really-Terrible-Time contest were, drumroll please:

a) he had managed to completely tear his mage robes in the transformation (and had sold all the necromancer ones already),

2) he had had to literally rob a guardhouse to get the rest of his gear back (fortunately, said guards were a bit preoccupied with the werewolf breakout),

c) he had had to trek all his gear around the lake to get a vantage position on the half sunken fortress that was apparently his objective,

4) the damn ring (as Sindig had said) absolutely _would not come off_, and

e) he was currently sat, (naked except for some spare breeches he had in his bag) next to a fire he'd made in the woods, desperately trying to warm up and ignore his rumbling stomach.

So yeah.

"Beginning to get the feeling." He said aloud, "That this 'champion of the Daedra' thing isn't all it's cracked up to be."

He was answered by a branch snapping in the woods to his left.

He jumped, swore, and grabbed the nearest staff to him, pointing it towards the foliage.

There was a low growl.

And then a dark form emerged from the leaves.

Xander screamed "_I DIDN'T MEAN IT I SWEAR!_", and with battle hardened reactions honed over decades if not weeks, fired his staff.

A ball of magelight harmlessly stuck to the werewolf as it walked up to his fire.

It looked down, pawed at it in annoyance, then dragged the carcass of a wild horse out from behind it, letting it thump onto the moss. It took in his shaking form, snorted derisively (how a wolf head managed to do that Xander had no idea) and then hunched as it began to sort of...shrink. The fur fell away, leaving a light coating on the floor beneath of it, and its body seemed to either condense inwards or break off into smoke, leaving behind...

Xander's jaw dropped.

"What, not got anything to say?" Said the _fully naked woman _stood stretching in front of him.

"Uh..." Xander responded, eloquently.

"Oh come on, never seen a woman without her clothes on before?" She raised an eyebrow.

He blushed. "Uh."

She snorted, and that sounded about the same as it had when she was a wolf. "Ha! Right. Well advice for the ladies; sitting there gawking at us isn't usually a great technique for wooing. Not that anything else you'll try will get you anywhere with me, I'm not interested. And another piece of advice since you're clearly new to this, try and fell a big beastie while you're transformed and stop yourself eating it. That can be your meal and clothes once you've transformed back. I'll see if I can make two sets from this..."

She crouched behind the horse, which concealed enough that Xander's brain got back up and running enough to comprehend her words and respond. "New to this? What do you mean?"

"New to being a werewolf, I mean." The woman remarked, not looking up.

Xander gulped. "What? No, I'm not a werewolf."

"Really." She gave him a flat look, hands deep in horse guts. "I've been in the 'just transformed back' phase more times than I can remember. I know what it looks like."

"No, I mean, yes I just _was_ a werewolf but that doesn't mean that I _am_ one, or at least-"

"Wow, _really_ new. This your first or your second time?"

"I-Look, I'm not an actually a werewolf, it's just-" he held up his hand, where Hircine's ring glinted.

"Oh." She tilted her head at him. "So that came _first_."

"Uh...what?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry; I'm doing that thing I do where I use my observations without explaining them. Call me Hjar."

"Xander. Do you mean Hyaa like-"

"_Yes_, like yelling." She grimaced. "Starting think I should shorten Hjarnagredda to something else...well, you're obviously just coming off a werewolf transformation. And you're wearing the ring of hircine, which I've been tracking since I was ten miles out of lake Ilinalta."

"You can _track_ it?"

"Werewolves can sense our patron's ring when we're transformed, yeah. But you're not responding like you're a new wolf who doesn't want to believe it, or like someone who just won the ring from Hircine and got powers from it. You're acting like this happened the moment you picked the ring up and you weren't expecting it. And if Hircine gets upset with the people holding his ring, he can curse it. So someone passed you a cursed Daedric artefact last night."

Xander stared at her for a few more seconds, and this time not just because of the nudity. "Wow. I'm not used to being out-experted on the Daedra. That was impressive."

"Thank you." Hjar smiled and inclined her head. "So can I have it?"

"The ring?" Xander blanched. "You, a werewolf, want the cursed werewolf ring?"

"I plan on un-cursing it." She replied, eyes darkening. "I...have a promise to keep, and that involves keeping control over myself."

"You seemed pretty in control of yourself earlier." Xander pointed out.

"Thank you! But you dodged the question. I don't want to do the whole 'gradually increasing threat level' thing."

"No, it's fine." Xander reached down to the ring. Paused. "Although...Tell you what, I'll give it to you if you do me a favour."

Hjar's gaze sharpened. "This better not be what I think it is-"

"Oh, no! No no no, nothing weird." Xander raised his arms placatingly. "Actually it's a little weird. Can you help me kill some people?"

"Bad people?" Hjar checked.

Xander pointed vaguely towards Ilinalta's deep.

"Oh. I smelled recent death and heard heartbeats; necromancers, right?"

"How do you-" Xander spluttered. "Yes! What are you, an inquisitor?"

"I observe." Hjar considered the request. "I'm only so good in a fight outside of beast mode. I'll be at my strongest for the next few hours, and I'm competent, but I'm mostly just a brittle mace swinger."

"You not got any flesh spells?" Xander asked. He squinted at her. "You're a Breton...right? I'm terrible at faces, I have no idea how people tell Nords apart from Imperials, but you have the yellow eyes and the white hair-"

"Yes, I am." She looked a bit embarrased. "I know we're meant to be gifted with magic and all that, but I never got into it."

"Why not?"

"That is..." She paused. "A really good question."

"I could teach you a little?" Xander offered. "Throw that into the deal. I have some books in my bag that I-" he coughed, "appropriated from the college. I bet you I can have you forming a functional oakflesh within two hours."

"Then I help you kill some necromancers, and you give me the ring." Hjar paused, then stood up and yanked. Xander recoiled in horror as pretty much the horse's whole skin came off. "Alright. Deal. I'll make us some clothes first, you just get used to looking like a Forsworn for a bit."

"Great!" Xander clapped his hands together and started rummaging through his bag. "I'm just lucky you didn't want a whole damn armour set enchanted like my last violence-partner..."

Hjar gave him a look. "Hm...Was your last violence partner an Orc by any chance?"

"Yeah. How do you figure that?"

She grinned. "Great work with the muffle on the boots. Dulurza's getting great mileage out of them."

"Oh NO WAY-"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"On your left!"

Ahtar spun and held up his axe to block a skeleton's swinging blade.

Dulurza pulled a knife (a replacement, she hadn't had time to smith a proper orcish one) and flung it backwards, burying it in the skull of the offending skeleton even as she heaved with her other hand. Her own opponent was shoved into the wall hard enough to shatter, bone clattering down and splashing into the calf-high water on the floor.

"Skeletons." Ahtar spat. "Gods, I hate them."

"They're bearable enough when they're still on the inside." Dulurza pointed out, grinning. "We're reaching the bottom of the crypts now. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The two progressed deeper. When she'd learned about the hole in the wall in the temple with scary noises (and occasional undead) emanating from it that led to the tomb of queen Potema, her immediate thought had been to rush it with every guard in the city. Her second thought had been to do it herself and keep every guard in the city in the Blue Palace protecting Elisif. Falk had offered her one of the housecarls to take with her, but then Ahtar had offered, claiming that it wasn't safe to pull away any of the Jarl's personal guard.

Dulurza had been surprised at the executioner, but accepted, and then cursed that she'd missed an opportunity to weaken the jarl's defences. She had reasoned that if someone outside her clan killed Elisif it wouldn't count, and, well, here she was.

"So why _did_ you decide to come with me?" She asked Ahtar, as they walked.

"You'll not like it." He warned.

"Tell me."

"Stentor ordered me to."

Dulurza grunted in annoyance and Ahtar waved her off. "Oh, relax. It's not about you. Stentor...has her own reasons she wants Potema's spirit under control."

"Because she's embarrassed she didn't notice it the first time." Dulurza chuckled.

"Sure. Let's go with that."

The two stopped in front of big, mostly rotted wooden doors. Potema's voice, which had been pestering them both since they first entered, was strangely silent.

"Through here?" Dulurza suggested.

"Most likely." Ahtar agreed. "Alright then. If it's just a few more skeletons or draugr, we can probably handle it without too much difficulty."

"It'd be easier if we swapped axes."

"You're _not_ having Solitude's execution axe."

"Let's agree to disagree." Dulurza hefted her own. "Breaching in three, two, one-"

The duo slammed through the doors into the chamber within.

Dozens of coffins lined a layered drop down into a pit. floating above them all was a giant purple sphere of light, crackling with power and echoing with laughter.

"Come; fools!" Potema declared. "Come, and meet your end!"

"You've gotta be kidding me." Groaned Ahtar.

"Ghosts." Answered Dulurza, sighing and hefting her weapon.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o **** ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"You've gotta be kidding me with these ghosts!" Hjar growled, grabbing the spectral wolf about the snout and slamming her mace into its skull, cracking through its corporeal shell and causing it to dissipate.

Across the room, Xander ran a necromancer through while firing his flames staff over her shoulder, shouting "Technically that was a Daedra!"

"I know! I'm a Forsworn, Daedra are our thing!"

She ran up and punched a fist through the ward Xander's next target was setting up, staggering him and making the blue shield drop away. She considered letting Xander's flames finish him off, before deciding it would be kinder to just bludgeon him with the mace of Molag Bal.

She noticed that in none of those exertions had any of her fingers broken, and knew that was due to the green shield covering her body.

It hasn't taken much soul searching to figure out why she'd never wanted magic before. It had been presented as a consolation prize. 'You can't hunt or gather, so see if you can manage some witchcraft instead'. Her pride had never allowed it. But this is reeeeeally useful. I'm practising this flesh spell business.

And while he was unwilling (or, as she suspected, unable) to provide her with much of a demonstration, Xander was a surprisingly good teacher. She got the feeling that everything she struggled with was something he'd struggled with before, and he'd shown her how to overcome them. Two hours, he'd promised, yet she'd had a basic enhancement working in one.

"_Hjar help me help me help me-_"

Of course, he wasn't an expert in everything.

"Where did you learn to dodge!" She shouted at him, as he sort of _fell_ to avoid a fireball the last mage shot at him.

"Nowhere!" He shouted, laying on his back just sort of wriggling in panic. "This is my third fight ever! Fourth if you count that time Melvin beat me up in school!"

"Ugh." She stepped over him on her way to the mage, batting a few firebolts out of the way with her mace before going in for a nice-n-simple bludgeoning. "Well you need to learn. How about I teach you a few manoeuvres when we're done?"

"Those might help." He admitted. He looked around, and once he realised they weren't in any immediate danger, he stood up slowly and pointed to her mace. "I want to ask where you got that, but I'm a bit more curious about how you still _have_ it. Weren't you a naked werewolf this morning? Where were you hiding it?"

"That is...a good question." She frowned at it. It's faces seemed to frown back. "I don't know. Probably some enchantment means I can't lose it."

"Convenient."

"It's a Daedric artefact, it wouldn't be a great end to the bardic ballads if the hero forgot where they left it one day."

The two continued up a last flight of stairs, opening a door into a final chamber.

Xander's face fell. "Oh, come on..."

Hjar looked over his shoulder, and blinked in surprise.

There, on a throne, sat a skeleton in mage robes. On it's lap...

"Azura's Star? After your great experience with Hircine you're after a different Daedric present?"

"It's broken..." he growled, walking up to it and squinting at it. "Varen what in Oblivion did you do to this thing..."

Broken it certainly was. A large crack went through the middle, and one of the crystal star's points was broken off, lying beside the rest of it like some anxious apprentice hadn't really known what to do with it.

"The design is genius..." Xander mused, doing some fiddly things with it. "Practically impossible to create unless you're a superpotent extraplanar entity of course, but the basic matrices will still be able to function up until almost total structural collapse; although total internal reflection of the soul's natural aetherius pull will be impossible..."

"Which means?" Hjar asked.

"That it's still working, but there's a constant power drain." Xander replied, rummaging in his bag. "That's why the cultists kept talking about sacrifices; they'll have to keep feeding it more power...exponentially more, as time passes. It'll break down by the end of the year; sooner if they let it run out beforehand. 'Course that's back-of-a-sweetroll-package-maths, I'll need to take it to an enchanting table to get proper answers."

"You were doing that with _maths_?"

"Yeah, this is my turn to show off."

He pulled out some cloth, gently scooping the Star's parts off (Varen?)s corpse and wrapping them up. "I gotta take this back where it belongs. There's a nice shrine lady who might be about to kill me for letting it get like this. Oh-"

He turned around and pulled the ring off his finger. "Here. I don't go back on my promises." He tried to flick it to her, but he got the angle wrong and dropped it. He swore, and just threw it to her. She caught it with a chuckle. "Thanks." She held it between her fingers and squinted at it. Such an innocent looking thing. Any jewellery smith worth his salt could have made a perfect replica.

She inhaled, and put it on.

The wolf howled.

She grimaced and tensed as the beast inside her woke up immediately and started clawing at her insides. It was _desperate_ to get out, it wanted to free itself and get _out there_ and _Kill Everything_-

**No. Control. Think of your that harlot you desire, if it helps you. My champion does not fall to some base hunt-rage.**

Hjar's eyes snapped open. She breathed, deeply and slowly, and carefully wrestled the anger down. The wolf wasn't stopping it's howling, but she wasn't going to let it escape.

**Good. Do not expect any more aid, daughter of the Reach. Mere beasts are unworthy of my patronage.**

"...What in a dozen dragonbreaks was that." Xander asked her.

She touched the mace at her hip. It glowed coldly. "Two gods are squabbling using my body as the playground."

"Come again?"

She shook herself and waved him off. "Don't worry about it. I've got to go and let the wolf run around for a bit; thanks for your help. I'd advise staying inside here for the next few minutes so I have chance to get out of range, I might hunt you down if I sense you."

"Rrrright. Thank you too." Xander gulped, then under his breath muttered "why is everyone else so awesome..."

She chuckled and moved to leave.

"Oh, and one last thing?" He called from behind her.

She stopped. "What?"

"You have...fur. Growing out of your ears. I didn't want to bring it up."

She blushed. "Right. Oh, are you planning on leaving that body, desecrating it...?"

He squinted at the body, touched a corner of the robes, then nodded to himself. "The latter. He's my height."

* * *

**8˂**

Falk looked in the mirror and nodded, scratching at his beard. "Thank you. That's the best it's looked in months."

"Don't mess with it, you'll ruin the trim!" L'laarzen scolded him, light-heartedly. "But the pleasure is all mine. It was a joy to work with."

"Aye, well, when your second name is 'Firebeard' you can't exactly cut the thing off. Damn politicians couldn't possibly handle the uproar..."

"Is it stressful to work in the Palace?" L'laarzen asked, innocently packing her things.

"Like you wouldn't believe." He sighed, standing up. "What with the war, and the Forsworn, and the ghosts, and now Dulurza's off in a crypt somewhere-"

"Oh, Dulurza!" L'laarzen's ears perked up. "Khajit met her in Whiterun a short while ago. Orc lady, tall?"

"Oh, really?"

"Really! She told L'laarzen that she worked in this palace; might I be able to see her?"

"Perhaps once she gets back." Falk's face fell. "Gods, I hope she comes back. Absolute madwoman, but she's been good for Elisif. I haven't seen the Jarl smile this much since...well." He shook his head. "How much do you charge?"

"Five septims, is standard. Only perhaps..." L'laarzen shifted. "Khajit has heard of a very rare beverage known as 'firebrand wine', some of which is kept here at the palace."

He chuckled. "Officially, I'm not supposed to open any except in special occasions. But unofficially, well, I'm the only one around here who organises anything. Tell you what; the crate's kept by the kitchen, left corridor from the entrance. Bring it here and we'll share a drink, and if something happens to one of the bottles on the way, I won't say anything."

"You are too kind friend!" L'laarzen grinned at him, winked, and left the room, tail swishing behind her.

Falk smiled to himself, grabbing his heavy coat and putting it back on. It was always nice to be reminded, every once in a while, that there were nice people out there.

That was when the door was kicked open.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza, walking back from the temple of the divines with a skull under her arm, met a sight she was very much not expecting to see.

"Stentor!" She gasped. "You can run?"

"No time!" Bit out the court mage, out of breath. "There's been an attack!"

"There's _what_?" Dulurza's eyes immediately narrowed. "Where? What-"

"Attackers in the palace, something to do with Potema, I don't know." Stentor pointed to the skull. "Is that her? Give it to me, I'll take care of it, you get back in there and help! The Jarl is in danger!"

Dulurza didn't even think about it, she pushed the skull into Stentor's hands and started running.

The road up to the palace had never felt so long and her armour had never felt so heavy, her feet pounded as rapidly as she could force them to on the cobbles as she rocketed towards the unguarded entrance. The moment she entered she was able to hear the sounds of combat, quickly going right, bursting through one door and then another, ignoring one guard cornering an unarmed Khajiit and pelting towards the end of the corridor, where she could see the bustle of a fight. Once she got in, however, she had to take a second to understand what she saw.

Falk Firebeard, one hand clutching his chest with blood dribbling between his fingers, was frantically attempting to fight off...four of the the city guard?

"Traitors!" He shouted once he saw her, and almost got beheaded for his trouble.

Now the guards might have contested that, but instead one of them shouted "Dammit! Kill the pig-woman too!" and that pretty much made up Dulurza's mind.

She roared, and charged.

The guards were short work, really; their wooden shields were flimsy and their bladework was shoddy. Her axe was admittedly difficult to wield in the enclosed space, but that just meant she had to make greater use of her elbows and fists, and then their own swords. All four soon lay dead at her feet, her shoulders heaving from the exertion. Then she heard a cough, and turned. "Falk?"

The advisor had slumped into a chair, and pulled his hand away from his stomach. There was a long red line drawn across it. "Damn them...they got me."

Dulurza let out an Orsimer swearword and moved over to him, yanking down a curtain and attempting to make it into an acceptable tourniquet. "What in Malacath's name _happened_, Falk?"

"I don't know." He coughed again. There was blood in his mouth. "They just...came out of nowhere. Started trying to gut me before I could ask what was happening. There's traitors in the guard, Dulurza. You can't trust them until we find out what-"

"Alright _shut up_ now, you're just aggravating the wound." Dulurza grimaced, trying to remember what her mother had taught her about cleaning and dressing injuries.

"No!" Falk reached up and grabbed her shoulders. "Listen, Dulurza. The Jarl's in danger. You're the only one I can trust to protect her."

"Trust-" She shook her head. Deathbed desperation, it had to be. "Falk, you know nothing about me."

"I know enough." He chuckled, weakly. "I've seen how you look at her."

"What in Oblivion does _that_ mean-"

"Just promise me you'll look after her!" He begged, and oh great, he was _begging_ now. "Please."

Dulurza had heard her fair share of campfire stories; she knew how the next few beats were going to go. But she had no idea how to go about actually averting it.

"...Alright." She ground out. "I promise. But you'd better not-"

It was too late. Falk slumped back into the chair, eyes going glassy.

Dulurza breathed in, then out, and then roared again and slammed a fist into the chair, knocking it onto its back as she turned and picked her axe back up. _Perfect. Got to get to Elisif, warn her about the guards, get them all to unmask and check that against the previous list, unless the actual guards are in on the betrayal, but I can still trust her housecarl and none of the politicians are any type of threat-_

She turned back to the door, looking up, and came face to face with Elisif and Stentor flanked by a platoon of guards.

Admittedly, with the benefit of hindsight, her first response shouldn't have been to point her axe at the guards and growl threateningly.

"Dulurza." Elisif gulped. "What-"

"She killed him." Sybille gasped, shock written on her face. "By the Divines, she killed Falk!"

"What?" Dulurza gaped. Then, "Oh, Stentor, you manipulative _wench_-"

The guards closed in, and Dulurza readied her weapon, but her grip was slack, her eyes unfocused. The evidence was right there behind her, the bodies, Elisif had no reason to doubt her own protectors, there was no telling whether Sybille was involved or just convinced by what she saw, Dulurza trying to fight the guards wasn't going to help her case at all and what in Malacath's name could she possibly say?

For the first time in a long time, Dulurza had absolutely no idea what her short term goal was.

She didn't even attempt to dodge when a bolt leapt from Stentor's hands to freeze her in place, and was powerless to stop the next knocking her out cold.

* * *

**Oh come on, you didn't see something like that coming? Dulurza's inarticulation gets her in trouble, and...well, just about everyone's in a pretty tight spot. This next chapter will be the climax of the arc so far. There will be an epilogue after that, and then a brief hiatus to give me time to write the next bit.**

**Or maybe this will die. I've been a tad unreliable about these things in the past.**

**Next time: Someone winds up in prison, someone winds up in prison, and someone else winds up in prison.**


	10. Contact

**Last Time: Xander claimed Azura's star, Hjar claimed Hircine's ring, and Dulurza and L'laarzen were both caught up in Falk Firebeard's murder.**

* * *

**Contact**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Aranea Ienith heard the footsteps on the stone steps behind her, and turned. When she saw who was approaching, she let out a breath in relief. Thank Azura; he survived.

Alexander Meteuse was...different. For one thing, his robes had changed. These new ones were black, and much finer than the last she'd seen him in. But that wasn't the source of the change; something was different in the way he carried himself. There was more confidence there now. The confidence of a man who had fought, and killed, and even if he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that, the door to do it had opened.

Forgive me for my doubts, my lady. I had assumed that you would send your champion on your quest, but instead, it is the quest that makes the champion.

She opened her mouth to greet him and-

"It's really cold." Alexander chattered. "Sorry, but, how do you deal with this? You stay in that tiny little tent over there with that tiny fire? How don't you have frostbite?"

Aranea shook her head and smiled. And yet, some things haven't changed. "I serve the prince of the dusk and dawn. It would be remiss if I could not handle heat and cold. Now, you have retrieved the star?"

He coughed. "I have. Only..."

"It is broken?" He gave her a flabbergasted look and she continued, "I told you, I have foreseen all that is to come. I know that the Star was damaged by Malyn in his experiments. And I can repair it."

Alexander smiled. "Awesome! ...Uh, how?"

"First, you give the remnants to me." Aranea replied, turning back to the altar. "And then...tell me, champion. Would you like to meet a god?"

* * *

Alexander Meteuse was absolutely bricking it right now.

_Oh, don't worry, it's fine! It's just, you know, a Daedra. One of the original spirits, a notoriously fickle goddess of incredible power. No pressure, right?_

He inhaled, closed his eyes, and put his hands on the altar.

There was a pause, in which nothing happened.

Xander opened his eyes, frowned, and turned to Aranea. "Uh, I don't think it's-"

"**BOO!**"

Xander shrieked and jumped on the spot as the voice appeared in his head from seemingly nowhere, being quickly followed by an echoing, booming laughter.

"**Oh, you mortals. So easily startled.**"

Xander gulped and looked up to the statue. "Azura?"

"**Indeed.**"

"I meet a Daedra and the first thing she does is pick on me..." Xander sighed. "This is my life. Hi, by the way. I, uh, I brought your Star back."

"**So I see, so I foresaw. You have done well to retrieve it, young mortal. And yet I must wonder...why?**"

Xander blinked. "Come again?"

"**You are not a religious individual, Alexander.**" Azura continued, "**You have prayed from time to time, when you were desperate or afraid, but never have you truly worshipped anyone. And yet, when my servant requested your assistance, you did not hesitate. Why was that?**"

He paused. "You don't already know?"

"**I see much of what mortals do, child, but why they act is often a mystery to me.**"

Xander sighed. "Alright. I took your quest because it...it made me feel important. Getting handpicked to reclaim an artefact for a deity? It made me feel special."

"**An honest answer. Thank you.**" Azura replied. "**Yet perhaps not the whole truth? I know that the mage in Winterhold offered you an opportunity to change my star, in a way that would have made it much more useful to you. Why did you not take him up on it? Was it perhaps that, seeing what happened to Varen, you were too afraid of my wrath to defy me?**"

Xander opened his mouth, then paused. Fear was a very common motivating factor for him, but something about Azura's judgement...wasn't quite right.

"What's your account of this whole thing?" He asked her. "Why can't your Star trap black souls?"

The giant statue seemed to loom a bit harder, but that might have just been his imagination. "**Have you ever heard of the Ideal Masters, child?**"

He frowned and wracked his brain. This was unusual, but, "Nnnno. I don't think so."

"**Understandable. They are not common knowledge, even amongst the most learned mages.**" Azura continued. "**Allow me to teach you a closely guarded secret of enchanting. There is no inherent power within a soul that an enchanter draws out to use as fuel. The souls are bartered. They are trapped within the soul gems, and energy is claimed from the Aetherius in exchange for their safe return. Or in the Star's case, from me. But the souls of the sentient mortals...they cannot be so easily trapped. Enter the self proclaimed Ideal Masters, a race of beings who have carved out their own plane of Oblivion and from there trade in souls with the mortals foolish enough to deal with them. Black souls can be traded to them in exchange for great power, but those souls are subjected to vile torment." **Azura's voice became angry. **"They are tortured for amusement, and consumed to prolong the Masters' lives. It sickens me. For a mortal to be torn early from their just afterlife, and instead given a fate worse than any realm of Oblivion.**"

"Then...every black soul gem is a crime against humanity." Xander gulped, realising.

"**Indeed. My soul could trap black souls, to claim them instead for my realm. I know that many other Daedra, such as Molag Bal, do such a thing with their implements. But I despise such things. I desire my subjects love, willing supplication, not their domination. So when Varen attempted to corrupt my Star to such a purpose, I was incensed. I sent him visions warning him of what he was doing; and when he did not listen, I turned those visions sharp. I regret only that I could not break him before he finished his work.**"

Xander nodded, slowly. It was...about the response he'd expected from a vaguely benevolent, debatably omniscient, and possibly psychopathic Goddess. "**For what it's worth, I think you're in the morally good area. I'll try and explain to Nelecar what happened.**"

"Thank you, mortal." Azura's voice was amused, as though an _ant_ had just told her it appreciated her life choices. "**And now, if you are willing, there is one more task I have for you.**"

Xander groaned internally. "I did some observations on the way back. Varen's still in there."

"**He is.**"

"You want me to get him out."

"**I do.**"

Xander groaned externally.

"**And you will not be able to bring your companions with you this time. I can transport your soul and your soul alone into the gem, if you are willing. And it _will_ be in danger. Once you enter, you will not be able to exit until the intruder is destroyed.**"

He grimaced. _This is so not what I signed up for when I tried to trick my way into magic school..._

"_I will not force you._" Azura told him. "**You have been a great help already. The Star will reconstitute in Moonshadow within a few centuries. But if you desire it for yourself-**"

"No." Xander interrupted her. "I'm not doing this for a magical present."

He looked up, straightened his staff on his back, and narrowed his eyes. "This guy's killed dozens of people. I want to put him down. Send me in."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ****8˂**

_Thud._

_Thud._

_Thud._

Dulurza slammed her fist repeatedly into the back wall of her cell.

It wasn't helpful, it wasn't particularly anything other than painful, but the pain helped her focus.

_Think, think, think. What do I do? Elisif's in danger. What do they want with her? What's this all for? Is it just a coup? Dammit, I should have asked the chief for more details. What happens if someone _else _kills my target?_

Blood began to trickle down from her knuckles as she raised the fist again, but she paused when she heard some shuffling from the ground next to her.

"Mph. Could this one maybe stop with the banging?" A vague lump in the corner sat up, golden eyes seeming to shine despite the darkness. "Khajiit has been hit in the head quite hard, and there is already quite enough pounding going on...what time is it?"

"Just past dawn." Dulurza growled in annoyance. "And get over yourself, cat. I don't concern myself with-" She stopped, blinked, and looked more closely at her cell-mate. "Wait. _L'laarzen_?"

L'laarzen shook herself, and squinted more closely. "Dulurza?" A smile cracked her face. "_Friend!_ Khajiit did not expect to meet you so soon! And not in such a place as this! L'laarzen is so happy, she will forget about the 'cat' comment!"

"R-right." Dulurza winced. "Sorry. Why are you in here?"

"Khajiit was caught up in the scuffle in the Palace." L'laarzen explained, standing up. "She tried to explain that she was there for entirely legal reasons, but they didn't seem to be interested in talk."

"There's been a betrayal." Dulurza hissed. "The guards killed the Jarl's advisor, and pinned it on me. I need to get out of here and stop them! You're a sneak thief, can you get us out of this cell?"

L'laarzen frowned. "Khajiit could, yes, but such escapades have proven problematic in the past. If the friend breaks out without trying to explain herself, then she is almost certainly guilty in the eyes of the hold. You will be unable to ever return to Haafingar, not without facing justice or a heavy fine."

Dulurza winced. That would certainly put a stopper in the plans. _A criminal can hardly become a trusted agent of the Jarl, but if she dies...or wait, would that be a _good _thing?_

This was the first time when Dulurza noticed that her objectives, with regards to Elisif the fair, were getting a little...muddled.

There was the slam of a door, and both women turned to see the executioner walk into the room in the centre of all the cells.

"Ahtar!" Dulurza shouted, running up to grab the bars of her cage. "Get over here!"

He turned, saw her, and walked over. "Dulurza. I thought I'd find you in here."

"Get me out of here!" She shouted through the bars. "The guards killed Falk! They fra-"

"I know." He told her, frankly.

She paused and frowned at him, and he chuckled, setting his axe to one wall. "Divines, you're oblivious. I guess things are a lot simpler in the orc tribes, huh? Lemme make things easier for you. This is a coup."

_...Hmph, right, got it. Should have thought of that, really_. "Why?" Dulurza demanded. "Where's your damn loyalty?"

"I was _loyal_ to High King Torryg." Ahtar walked up in front of the cage, squaring up to her. "Not his _concubine_. Elisif isn't my Jarl."

"Then who? Who in Malacath's name is going to take her place?" Dulurza countered. She was dimly aware of L'laarzen moving beside her, and (not breaking eye contact) moved further from the door.

"No-one." Ahtar told her, and grinned at her reaction. "And I guess I can't blame you for not understanding what that means. I admit it, the plan's a bit crazy, but I'm sure Stentor knows what she's doing."

"Stentor?" Dulurza's eyes narrowed. "She's going to be Jarl? A _vampire_?"

"Eh, basically." Ahtar shrugged. "It has to be Elisif's face, of course. She's the only one who can end up as High Queen out of all this. But there's no reason it has to be her _mind_ sat behind the eyes."

"You're going to mind control her?" Dulurza gave him a horrified look.

"No, apparently that's impossible." Ahtar replied. "But there's a workaround. We can put something else _inside_ her, and bind that."

_Summoned by words, bound by blood_. The Septim dropped, as did Dulurza's jaw. "By Volendrung. You're putting _Potema_ in _Elisif's body_?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Margret shoved the last few things into her bag; a wrapped loaf of bread, her notebook, her backup backup knife, and then drew the drawstring tight, tying it and pulling it over her shoulder. She took one last look at her room, grimaced, and started walking.

Things were getting _bad_ in this city. If anything she'd been toning it down when explaining the situation to Hjar. People had been pulled out of houses and beaten in the street before being hauled off to Cidnah mine. It wasn't even a united front from the police force; guards had been sighted getting into fist fights with each other. It was plain that either Madanach or Thonar (or quite possibly both) were looking for something. Margret had a sneaking suspicion that that 'something' was her. Well, either her or...

_Don't think about Hjar_. She internally berated herself, walking out into the Inn's central room. _Don't think about what she is. Especially don't think about how if you leave the city now, she won't be able to find you..._

Margret wordlessly tossed her keys to the innkeeper, making her way to the door, eyes downcast. It was too dangerous. That was the phrase she'd had to repeat to herself over and over again all last night. The longer she lingered in Markarth, the higher the chance that she'd be snatched off the streets and hauled off somewhere she'd never escape. She shouldn't have even been here the last two weeks. She needed to return to Solitude and report.

No sane woman would stay.

It still felt like a betrayal to go.

She shoved open the doors to the inn, walking out into the street and bringing up one hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun. Her breath fogged in the cold air, and her feet beat a hasty rhythm on the cobblestones as she beelined for the city gates.

"Halt! You, the redhead!"

Margret froze. Looking behind her, she saw three of the city guard approaching. Their helmets concealed their faces, but to a man their hands were resting on their swords.

"Need something, gentlemen?" She asked, fists clenched.

"You're Margret? We're gonna need you to come with us." One of them said, not even bothering to phrase it as a request. "We have some questions for you."

Her legs tensed, and her eyes strayed to the gate. If she could get out of the city walls, she was almost certain she could lose them in the hills...but there were two more guards by the great Dwarven doors, and they were looking at her. Almost begging her to try it, and give them an excuse.

"Why me?" She turned back to the guards that had accosted her, expression desperate. "I'm done looking for trouble. I'm leaving right now, getting out of your business like you wanted. Isn't it easier to just let me go?"

There was a hacking laugh. Margret looked in surprise as an old man in black robes walked out from behind the guards.

"And who in Oblivion are you?" Margret asked.

"My name is Logrolf." He grinned at her, sickeningly. "And we don't want you for _you_. We need you as bait for someone else."

Margret's eyes widened. _Hjar_.

After that, she did try to run.

It didn't go so well.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ****8˂**

"Well well well. You _can_ learn!" Ahtar grinned. "That's why we had to get rid of Falk; he knew Elisif far too well. And thanks for helping us get that skull back, by the way. That combined with being a great scapegoat almost makes up for all the trouble you caused in the first place."

"Once a traitor always a traitor." Dulurza warned him. "When you're useless to Stentor she'll turn on you too."

"Hmph. Maybe." Ahtar shrugged. "But loyal muscle is hard to come by. I reckon if I keep my head down I'll be able to live a decently long life."

"Then _why? _What do you have to _gain_?" Dulurza slammed a fist against the grate in protest.

"Apparently she'll double my salary." The executioner replied, nonchalantly. "Plus, Stentor doesn't much care what happens with Potema. Not as long as she can keep teaching magic secrets and putting on appearances for the court. Says everyone in the guard who helps is allowed to take a 'turn' with the puppet-queen once she's bound properly, which I am looking forwards to."

Dulurza's fists tightened. "I won't let you get away with this."

"Really? You know I get plenty of statements like that from my prisoners." Ahtar spread his arms and moved closer to the bars. "But, just like them, you're locked in a cell. How do you plan to stop us?"

There was a polite cough.

"Oh, L'laarzen is sorry." Remarked the Khajiit, stood calmly in the middle of the room behind him. "Was that door supposed to be locked? Khajiit hardly noticed it."

Ahtar turned to see the cell door hanging ajar and Dulurza reached out of the cage, grabbing his outfit and _slamming _him into the bars. His head cracked against the metal with a satisfying clang and he stumbled backwards clutching his nose, while Dulurza ran around the door and out, bringing her left fist round to smash into his jaw.

He recoiled, blocked her next two hooks and jabbed her in the nose, then brought an elbow round to her temple. She ducked it, and brought up a knee to his crotch, then hooked one of his arms and threw him over her shoulder, slamming his back into the floor.

He wheezed, and Dulurza walked over to the wall, grabbing the executioner's axe and giving it a few test swings.

"I told you." She said, approaching him again. "I was gonna get this axe."

"Hey, wait-"

She slammed the butt of it into his temple, knocking him out cold. L'laarzen clapped energetically, and Dulurza spat on him for good measure, before turning back to the Khajiit. "What happened to you being worried about fines?"

"Oh, please." L'laarzen smiled. "You are chasing something much more valuable than gold. _Go_."

"Heh. I promise I'll have your bounty removed!" Dulurza shouted it over her shoulder, running for the stairs.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjarnagredda's muscles heaved and she panted heavily, veritable clouds of fogged breath emerging from her snout.

Laying dead beneath her paws was a great stag, white fur slowly staining red with blood.

She'd thought it would be easy. Hunting had always been either painfully easy as a wolf or damn near impossible as a Man, but this ruddy stag had had her chasing it for damn near two days. It was fast, and agile, and got tired slower than her, and had led her halfway across the Talos-damned _country_. She'd had to stop and think, use her head, lay traps, lure it into a specific point to graze and then spend _hours_ sat in a bush (holding in the wolf in) for the right moment to move, before chasing it all the way across Whiterun plains, using the city on one side and the giants on the other to herd the thing into the passage leading up to Morthal, and finally she'd gotten it to trip and fall over the snow-hidden ruins of the Labyrinthian.

Now, transforming back into her human form again, she was exhausted, hungry, freezing cold, after hours upon hours of frustration, pain and boredom.

It had been...fun. Really fun. Landing the final claw blow had been one of the best things she'd ever felt.

"**Well met, Hunter.**" Said a voice, and a now naked Hjar nearly jumped out of her skin.

Stood in front of her was an ethereal rendition of the beast she'd just slain.

"Hircine." She inclined her head. Internally, she was freaking out that she was receiving audience with the god she'd worshipped almost all her life, but she kept a calm face. She'd set a precedent with how she interacted with Molag Bal, and didn't want to be accused of favouritism.

"**Hjarnagredda. Thank you for sending Molag Bal's regards, it has been some time since he and I spoke.**"

Hjar coughed. "Yeah, sorry about the sass."

"**Not at all. We always find it amusing when the mortals deign to 'sass' us.**" The beast's head turned downwards, to the stag's corpse. "**Impressive kill. I was watching your hunt. You have talent.**"

"Hmph." Hjar looked down at herself and shivered. "Not really got the body for it though."

"**Oh? Is the form I granted you unsatisfying?**"

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I just..."

"**You were faced with a problem. You did not believe you were worthy of the hunt. And so, you gave up, and turned to prayer.**"

"I couldn't _run_!" She protested. "I couldn't swing a sword, or pull back a bow-"

"**You made excuses.**" Hircine told her, frankly. "**Perhaps you might find an example in a man named Kodlak Whitemane, who still hunts to this day, despite the rot that plagues his body. _He _does not use his wolf to strengthen himself.**"

"Another werewolf?" Hjar blinked. "But the beast form cleans us of our ailments. He has the rot, and he doesn't transform to cure himself?"

"**Treat, not cure.**" Hircine replied. "**Regularly becoming the wolf might grant him better health, but it would not save him. No, Kodlak desires Sovngarde. He sits, and suffers. And despite that, once every week he goes out into the plains. And he brings back a kill**."

Hjar winced, and looked down. The ring glistened on her finger. "You won't repair this. Will you?"

"**Defeatism again? Perhaps I should have expected it.**" Hircine turned around, ethereal hooves resting atop the snow as if it was hard packed earth. "**Recall when you fled from your clan, rather than explain what you were? Or when you did the same with the woman you care about?**"

"What does Margret have to do with this?" Hjar snarled.

"**All actions have consequences, every hunter knows that. Perhaps had you not chosen to pursue the girl, she would not now be languishing in prison.**"

"She _what?_" Hjar's jaw dropped.

"**Oh, indeed. She is being interrogated in Cidnah mine this very minute.**" The stag, looking away, turned it's head towards her, giving the impression that it was talking over it's shoulder. "**Ah, but cursed as you are you do not trust yourself in her presence. How amusing. You disappoint me, daughter of the Reach. Oh, but this was a good hunt...very well. I will grant you a chance to restore your ring. There is another werewolf such as you, by the name of Sindig. If you find him and-_What_ are you doing?"**

"Making clothes." Hjar said, crouched in the snow, tearing the stag's pelt from it's carcass.

"**I am _talking-_**"

"And I stopped listening after you told me Margret was in danger." She bundled up the bloodied pelt into a roll. "Thanks for the tip-off, but she's halfway across the country and you're wasting my time."

With that, she slung the pelt over her shoulder, and took off at a run through the snow back towards Whiterun. She didn't look back.

"**...Promising.**" Hircine mused. The stag took a small gallop, then leaped, and vanished from sight.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza ran. It was the second time in as many days she'd found herself charging towards the Blue Palace as fast as she could, though this time she was forced to take the back roads to avoid the eyes of any guards that might be patrolling.

The extra time that took was made up by how much lighter she was without her armour. She'd have preferred half an inch of steel between herself and her enemies, but considering her target, maybe it was better to be only carrying the rags on her back and the axe in her hands.

Indeed, when she smashed the lock on a back door and made her way into the kitchens, she only had one goal in mind. _Kill Stentor. Get the Jarl safe. Get out._

She found a back staircase she'd made a note of on one of her earlier stays in the palace, climbing up them to the second floor. There was a guard there, and she didn't take the time to figure out whether he was friend or foe. Before he could cry out she slammed the haft of the axe into his neck, shoving him backwards into one wall and holding him there. _One...two...three..._He slumped, and she dropped him, keeping moving. First stop, Stentor's quarters. Dulurza shoulder charged the door, hurling it open and looking inside, but..._empty. Dammit._ That meant one of two things.

Turning, she returned to the corridor, and ran down it's length to the door at the other end. There lied the master bedroom.

Elisif's quarters.

* * *

"Are you certain this is necessary?" Elisif protested, sat in a chair at her tea-table. "I assure you I am _fine_."

"Quite necessary." Stentor replied, setting up various magical instruments on the table. "The palace was attacked, my lady. Checking your person for lingering harmful magics is standard procedure. I would have done it sooner, were I not preoccupied preparing Potema's skull..."

"Preparing?"

"Exorcising." Stentor corrected, smoothly, "Magical jargon. And of course, I had to ensure that _Orc _was safely transferred to her cell."

"Right." Elisif looked down. "I...will have to question Dulurza myself. This morning, ideally."

"Question her?" Sybille looked at her. "My lady, she _killed _Falk."

"Yes, well..." That was the problem. Looking in a mirror, Elisif could see the dark rings around her eyes. She'd been too busy thinking about it to sleep. It still hadn't sunk in yet that the man who'd helped her since she was a young teen was _dead. _And that his killer was... "I would still like to hear what she says. It seems _wrong_, and there's no proof that-"

"No proof? Besides her standing over his body? My lady, please, I warned you since the beginning that this would happen-"

"I Will Speak To Her. Nonetheless." Elisif returned, harshly, hands clenched on the table.

Stentor paused, then sighed. "Alright. Enough of this petty facade." She reached into her bag, and pulled out a skull with a gold circlet about it's head.

Elisif recoiled in shock, "What-"

Sybille didn't give her a chance to react, conjuring green light in her hands and firing a flash that took Elisif in the chest. It felt like her limbs turned to ice, she was frozen in her position in the seat.

"I know it's generally better form to leave the gloating until after the victory, but there was never much chance of me pulling this off subtly and I could not put up with your whinging any longer." Stentor rambled, focusing on the skull. It's eye sockets began to glow. "Honestly, first with your husband, then the moment you start to get over that you spend all evening complaining about that accursed Orc girl. Perhaps if you were good for anything other than whining we wouldn't be in this mess."

Elisif's eyes flicked about wildly as she strained to move any part of herself, trying to escape her invisible bindings. _Ten seconds. Paralysis spells run out after ten seconds, so if I can just get a second when that happens I can overturn the table and scream for help-_

"I know what you're thinking." Stentor remarked. "And it's twenty seconds. I'm an expert, dear, you won't find a more effective paralysis outside of Winterhold. And anyway," she looked up from what she was doing and brought her hands together again, firing another spell, "that's it refreshed. Should be enough. Now, where was I...ah yes, Torryg! Do you know how much time, effort, and sorcery I put into that boy? All down the drain in an instant? I swear, if I get my hands on Ulfric I'll make whatever petty revenge fantasies _you've _had look like flea bites. And believe me, I _will _get a hold of him. I suppose you can have that consolation, when your soul becomes nothing but your fuel and your mind is torn asunder by a deranged necromancer queen."

The skull was _humming _now, and Elisif found herself transfixed by it's eyes. Her heart was pumping, as her vision tunneled slowly in on the object. Strands of blue light began to stretch out towards her, latching onto her face, and a dark voice began to echo in the back of her mind.

_No._ She thought. _Not now. Not like _this_._

"I wonder." Mused Sybille. "What must be going through that greenskin's head right now? Perhaps later I will have you kill her yourself. Ooh, I like that idea. Maybe there will be enough of you left over to see how betrayed she looks?"

_No._ Elisif tensed. The paralysis was fading, and even as her thoughts began to muddle, one thing became perfectly clear. _I won't ever betray her. And she won't ever betray me. I know it._

In what was in fact just really fortunate timing, but looked an awful lot like a genuine summoning, it was that exact moment that the door to the room slammed open.

* * *

**CULIFFUHANGARU! Originally Dulurza's final conflict was meant to be in this chapter, but it ended up way too long, so here you are. Sorry I'm a little late. As I've said on the Naruto fanfiction (go check it out) things have been hectic lately, and editing times have been...tight.**

**And _damn. _I don't remember when the Daedra became life advice coaches. Godly beings are just great vectors for an 'outside perspective' to judge someone's life.**

**Next Time: ...It's the goddamn conflict resolution I ain't giving you anything.**


	11. Growing A Collective Pair

**Last Time: Xander agreed to cleanse Azura's star, Dulurza rushed to stop Elisif from being possessed, Hjar rushed to save Margret, and L'laarzen escaped from Solitude's jail.**

* * *

**Growing a Collective Pair**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Surprising absolutely nobody, the interior of the crystal was crystalline. Glowing, aqua coloured hexagonal structures stretched downwards as far as Alexander could see, and surrounded him in what looked half like a cave and half like some strange beehive. Looking down, he saw a path spiralling downwards. Wandering aimlessly were men and women in robes. They had pitch black skin, red eyes, and red face paint.

_Oooooh no. Not Men at all. Dremora._ Not as powerful as a Daedric prince, but dangerous in that they could be more tangibly summoned into Mundus. Or, well, wherever this was.

_Oh, dear. Ooooh, oh dear._

"Ah, my disciples have sent me a fresh soul. Good. I was getting...hungry."

Xander froze, and looked up. _Forwards, moron, first thing you check is forwards-_

Looking across at him was a dunmer man with very pale skin for his race, wearing robes that looked...actually, they were the same as the ones Xander was wearing.

Malyn Varen, flanked by a pair of dremora, took in the invader with keen eye. "Wait. There's something...different about you."

This was it. This was the moment, the final confrontation. Alexander's staves and hastily learned combat knowledge against Varen's decades of experience in magic, and the countless millennia of of training the dremora had accrued.

This was a battle only a fool would take. A fool...or a hero.

_...nah._

"Oh dear lord." Xander exclaimed, voice cracking in a way he wished he could say was deliberate. "Where is this? What's going on? Who were those mages in there? I-I was just carrying my master's enchanting supplies to Falkreath, whatever this is I swear I have no part in it!"

Some of the suspicion vanished from Malyn's face, and he grinned, walking forwards. "Ah, you poor thing. I'm afraid to say that you just died, young man."

"What?" Xander gaped, throwing his hands to his cheeks. "No! I can't be, I'm still-wait, is this the Aetherius? Am I in Sovngarde?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not." Varen cackled. "Welcome to the Azura's star. My own personal plane of Oblivion."

"Oblivion?" Xander's mouth fell open. "_Me?_ But-but I only cheated with Byalen that one time!"

"Ah, the petty concerns of you mortals." Varen got right up Xander's face. His arms came up, glowing with some unfamiliar spell. "You're all so wonderfully childish. I imagine you're about to tell me you had some great dream you planned to achieve before you died. Adventures you planned to have, beauties you planned to marry. What are you, a mage in training? Those are some of the tastiest." He licked his lips.

Xander sighed. "No. I'll admit I'm not much of a mage." His hand came to rest on his belt.

"But I am a damn good liar."

Malyn had a brief moment to look surprised before Xander yanked Dulurza's knife from it's holster and buried it in the side of his neck.

The Dremora both started, but Xander wasted no time yanking the dagger back out of Malyn's gurgling throat and ("Ngh!") jamming it a few times into his gut for good measure before jumping backwards out of range of the man's flailing arms.

Varen's eyes rolled up into his forehead and he toppled forwards to the floor, blood pooling about his body, and "Whoa whoa whoa waaaiit a minute!" Xander shouted at the two Dremora moving towards him with broadswords raised.

His legs were shaking, but he tried to look calm as he wiped the blood off the knife (mimicking the way he'd seen Dulurza do it) and gave the Daedra pointed looks, saying "Whatever bargain he made with you, he's in no position to make good on it now, so there isn't much point in you getting into any more fights on his behalf. Sorry about stealing your payment, fellas, but I work for someone higher up the proverbial ladder. You know how it is."

They exchanged glances, looked back at him, then sheathed their weapons. "Heh." One said. "Damn right. I can relate to that, I once spent a hundred and twenty years working for Molag Bal. That guy has no idea what employee retention even means."

"Oh, tell me about it." Xander nodded. "Like, if you're doing five minutes of combat for a quick magicka payout then 'no strings attached' is fine, but if he's got you in here long term like this you'd expect he'd have clauses for his own death, that's conjuration 101."

"Not to mention he just wouldn't shut up about how he'd 'conquered death' and all that." Said the other Dremora. "Like sure, you want the whole 'maniacal genius' thing when you're frightening your enemies, but don't keep it up in your _downtime, _you know? Hey, what's your name?"

"Alexander." Xander replied. "Feel free to hit me up if you're ever low on work again, I'll see what I can do."

"Know what? I just might take you up on that."

"**Alright, children, playtime is over.**" Azura's voice echoed through the chamber. "**Adds; get out of my star. Alexander, excellent work. I'm returning you to the real world now. Brace yourself.**"

There was a flash, and the world around Xander went all white. Once his vision returned, he was back at the summit of the mountain, with Azura's statue looming over him.

"...Did it work?" Asked Aranea.

Xander's body caught up with what in Oblivion had just happened, and his legs cut out from under him, sending him crashing onto the floor. "Oh, sweet Divines I just stabbed a man in the throat, I think I'm gonna be sick again-"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| **

Dulurza roared and brought her axe down, smashing Potema's skull into pieces.

There was a boom, and the room was suffused in flash of purple light and smoke. The table cracked under the pressure, and Elisif, paralysis ending, scrambled backwards over her chair, landing in a heap on the floor.

"No!" Stentor shouted, through the blinding light. "You barbarian! Do you have any idea how long it will take me to get that accursed spirit back under control?"

Dulurza didn't respond; Sybille had made the classic error of wasting a visual distraction by making noise. She had revealed her location.

Dulurza yanked her axe out of the table and charged, swinging it at head height, appearing out of the dissipating smoke just in time to catch a stunned Stentor in the neck.

Except, the court wizard dodged.

Elegantly as you please, Sybille ducked under the swinging axe then exploded outwards with a straight kick, catching Dulurza in the chest and throwing her the whole way across the room.

"I've genuinely never hated anyone as much as I hate you. And that's an impressive feat." Sybille remarked, as Dulurza crashed into a bookshelf. "Oh, and YOU can stay where you are-" She fired off another paralysis spell at Elisif, who had been crawling away across the floor, "and-oh, perfect; the guards-"

Shouting began to echo down towards them through the corridor. Sybille flicked a hand and the door slammed shut, and then with another gesture an adjacent bookshelf toppled over, landing in front of the entryway. "Honestly, can _one thing_ go right? Just _one thing_ that I leave to someone else? Ahtar is going to pay when I next see him."

"You _are _a vampire." Dulurza said, getting back to her feet and gingerly touching her ribs. "No normal human your size has speed and strength like that."

"Of _course_ I'm a bloody vampire." Stentor snapped at her, throwing her hood back for the first time. Her eyes glinted a very odd colour. "You figured that out early enough, didn't you? With your _questions_, smashing apart every carefully laid plan you came into contact with, with all the subtlety of a dragon in a cattle shed!"

"Sounds like me alright." Dulurza grinned, and charged.

Stentor charged up another spell, ice by the looks of it, but Dulurza had no intention of playing dodgeball; halfway across the room she ducked low and grabbed the table by its end, hefting it upwards as a makeshift shield. A massive spike of ice buried itself into the wood, coming within inches of Dulurza's eyes, but before Stentor could charge another spell the two were in melee range.

The Orc threw the table forwards, and the Breton swept on hand up and cut the thing in two, the halves falling to either side just in time to let the butt of Dulurza's axe jab through and smack Stentor in the face. She recoiled back with a howl of annoyance, but was able to jerk left to avoid the followup strike. Dulurza changed her grip, turning the downwards motion of the axe into an upward swing even as she shoulder-checked Sybille to get her in range.

Sybille moved with the momentum of the attack, edging back just barely out of range so that the axe blade cut a line through the front of her robes, then brought her own hands up to forcibly continue the swing up above both their heads. She leaned in, and slammed her forehead into Dulurza's nose, forcing her to stumble backwards, and then _pushed_.

Dulurza fell to one knee, blood dripping down her face, both her hands on the haft of her weapon. Stentor was holding the axe as well, shoving it downwards so that the blade slowly approached Dulurza's face.

"Look at me. I'm behaving like an animal. This is what you've done to me." Stentor seemed more annoyed than in any sort of pain, inhuman vampiric strength pushing inexorably downwards. "What do I do now, hm? I suppose I can blame this fight on you once that obnoxious housecarl Bearclaw comes stumbling in. Note to self, kill him at some point. But I'll have to kill Elisif _first_ since the transfer is completely ruined." Sybille's eyes strayed over to the Jarl, who had been freed from the paralysis at this point and had scrambled over to the window, eyes wide and panicky. A strange expression came over the witch's face. "Oh...or maybe it isn't..."

Dulurza's eyes narrowed. She heaved, muscles shaking, and the axe blade stopped its movement towards her. It paused, haft almost shattering under the pressure, then began to slowly reverse direction. "_No_." She snarled.

Stentor looked back down, first in frustration, then in genuine worry as Dulurza began to force the blade upwards again. "What?"

"No." Dulurza repeated, pushing herself off of her knees and into a standing position, axe forced horizontal between them. "I will not." She grunted, it felt like her arms were on _fire_, "Let you hurt." She reached her full height, and now she was the one pressing downwards, "My _Jarl_."

Sybille hissed. One of her legs came up, kicking Dulurza between the legs. Dulurza didn't so much as flinch, and Sybille lost more ground for her trouble.

Sybille grimaced, her grip slipping-

Then there was a flash, and fire erupted from her hands.

Dulurza cried out as flames washed over her, blistering her lower arms and charring the wood of the haft black; she dropped the axe and stumbled backwards and Sybille reached through and grabbed her by the throat, briefly thrusting her upwards before choke-slamming her into the floor.

Dulurza saw stars.

"Congratulations, Orsimer." Sybille spat, disproportionally large incizors on full display as she leaned down. "You get to die knowing you _pissed me off_ more than any mortal ever has. After all this, the Thalmor had better come through on their promises when I hand them the city."

_Wait, what?_

Dulurza didn't have much time to think on it, Stentor's fingers were tightening around her neck, there was no blood going to her brain, black spots began to dance in her vision-

"Get away from her!"

There was a flash of light. Not magical light, this was simple, unadulterated sunlight, and Stentor fell back with a howl as a horrible hissing sound began to emanate from the hands that had moments earlier been choking the life out of Dulurza. Said hands fell away, and said Orc spent a second or so gasping for breath before she realised what had just happened.

As absurd as it sounded, Jarl Elisif the Fair had just opened the curtains.

Dulurza didn't waste the opportunity, staggering to her feet. Stentor had scrambled backwards, one arm covering her face, and that arm had begun to blister and turn red, as was all the rest of her exposed to the harsh light of the morning. She tried to run for a corner of the room not properly illuminated, stumbling over the axe in the process.

Dulurza wasn't worried. At this point, all that was left was the short fight.

She reached forwards, grabbing the back of Stentor's robes, and hauling her backwards into the light again. In one smooth movement, she pivoted in place, throwing Sybille into the bedframe with one hand and reaching down to pick up the axe with the other. She continued the spin, and Sybille's head cracked back against the wooden post, dropping her to her knees, as Dulurza brought the axe up above head height, and back down.

There was a nice smooth schwing.

Ahtar had kept his weapon in excellent condition, it seemed. The axe cut through Sybille's neck flawlessly.

* * *

**8˂**

Deep inside Brinewater Grotto, Gulum-Ei was rapidly stacking crates of things he didn't exactly _own_ but most definitely _possessed. _"Carlos! Go get the boxes of Skooma from downstairs!" He shouted to the mercenary in the room with him, the Nord man nodding and walking out of the cave's end section.

Alone, Gulum-Ei sighed deeply, pausing briefly and leaning on one of the nearby boxes.

"Rough day?"

_BY THE HIST'S LEFT TESTACLE- _Gulum-Ei jumped halfway out of his scales, spinning around at the unfamiliar voice.

A Khajiit woman was sat tending the fire in the centre of the room as if she'd been there the whole time. A woman he recognised. "You! What are you-" His hand went to his belt, and when he found that his weapon (main and backup) were missing, he went silent very quickly.

He remembered a piece of advice his teacher had given him once: _If anyone approaches you having already entered your pockets, be afraid. It means they have had the opportunity to kill you from behind, and instead chosen to meet you face to face._

"Your friend will not find the Skooma you sent him after." The Khajiit (L'laarzen, he remembered) pulled a bottle of the stuff out of a pocket somewhere in her clothes. "Khajiit took a couple of bottles and dumped the rest into the water. Skyrim has a big enough issue with moon sugar as is, she thinks."

"I..." He gulped. "Look. You can't blame me for you getting arrested. I told you ahead of time that the Firebrand wine wouldn't be-"

"Oh, no, Khajiit does not blame you for that!" She looked up and smiled at him, pulling the cork out from the Skooma bottle. "You could hardly have been blamed for the actions of the power hungry nobles, can you?"

"Of course not." He shook his head, relieved. "I only worried-"

"But." She stood up, and began walking towards him. "Perhaps the Guild might take a disliking to this one smuggling goods in and out of the country. Without giving them their proper share."

"Listen." He gulped. "This isn't-I was going to tell Mercer all about it! I just-"

"Ah!" She interrupted him, putting one finger on his lips. The clawed digit dug, not-quite-painfully, into his scales. "Not so loud, please. L'laarzen has been hit in the head quite recently, and the headaches are making her somewhat...Irritable."

She reached up to the collar of his tunic, and began to quite carefully cut a tear into the fabric. Gulum-Ei acknowledged the fact that this was a female feline with no particular body mass that was at least a foot shorter than him, intruding in his personal space.

He didn't move a muscle.

"K." L'laarzen asked, cheery tone not leaving her voice. "Who is she?"

"A woman called Karliah!" He whispered, as quickly and quietly as he could. "Wears all black, big attitude! She's a member of the Guild, or at least was. She's the woman who killed the last Guildmaster, Gallus, and ever since then she's been on the run! I swear I didn't know it was her until after our business was concluded!"

"Where is she now?" L'laarzen asked, still very carefully ruining his second favourite shirt.

"I don't know! I just heard her muttering on the way out that she was 'going back to where it all began'."

"Hm." L'laarzen nodded, slowly.

He waited a good few seconds, then squeaked out "...am I in trouble?"

She looked up at him. Her amber orbs seemed to glow in the dim light of the fire, and for a moment, her expression was a very, very frightening thing. It was almost completely impassive, and every instinct in Gulum-Ei was screaming at him to either run or beg for mercy. _I have exhausted all your use, _said that face, _and have stopped all attempts to act like a real person, as I have already decided how you are going to die._

But then, abruptly, the wide, warm smile came back. "Not at all!" She made a quick yanking motion and tore off the strip of cloth she'd been working at, and he flinched backwards so hard that he crashed into the boxes behind him.

"No, you have been a great help! Somewhat reticent at first, but that is to be expected, no? You are a criminal after all!" She worked the scrap of fabric into the top of the skooma bottle, and reached down to light the tip of it with the fire still burning in the middle of the room. "All I will ask is that you report your little side project here to the Guild as soon as possible, if it's no trouble."

"Tell them?" Gulum-Ei gulped. "If I tell Mercer I've been shaving off profits from him, he'll-"

L'laarzen threw the bottle, burning fabric still inside. The homemade molotov shattered onto a stack of crates not too far from him, and immediately caught on fire, lighting the wooden boxes ablaze.

"...Right." He replied, over the crackling of the fire. "I'll get on that right away."

"Excellent! Well, perhaps we will meet again. Goodbye!" She turned, and with a flick of her tail, slowly and calmly made her way out of the cave.

Gulum-Ei sagged. If Argonians could sweat, he would have been by now.

"Should have just stayed working at Windhelm docks." He muttered to himself, before running to put out the fire that was spreading across his merchandise.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| **

There was a thud, as Sybille Stentor's body hit the floor. It began to sizzle in the light as Dulurza staggered backwards, gasping for breath, letting the axe hang listlessly by her side.

"I told you." She panted. "Put her out in the sun. If she blisters and burns, behead her."

She looked up, and was almost knocked over as Elisif crashed into her.

It took her a second to realise that this wasn't an attack; Elisif threw both arms around her and began sobbing uncontrollably, burying her face in her breast.

"Hey. Hey. Easy now." Dulurza dropped the axe, and wrapped Elisif in a hug. "Deep breaths. You're safe."

"I...She..." Elisif was gripping her almost hard enough to hurt, which was saying something considering that she was as skinny as a rake.

_Although she does fill out well enough in certain areas-HEY! Enough! Battle trauma to deal with!_

"Just hold on to me and keep breathing." Dulurza advised, speaking softly. "If you're feeling weak or shaky that's normal; the first brush with death is enough to spook anyone. I was this bad after my first fight. Heh, I should tell you what this one Imperial I met a few days ago was like..."

"I thought you were a murderer." Elisif hiccoughed, still crying into Dulurza's shoulder. "I'm so, so, sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine. I probably would have done the same in your place. Actually, I'd probably have killed me where I stood."

The banging from the door interrupted Dulurza's train of thought, and she sighed. "As much as I'd like to give you a few minutes, you might want to get ready. Your guards will be coming in any second now. And I should probably get out before they do-"

"No!" Elisif shouted. She looked up, meeting Dulurza's eyes in desperation. "You can't, I...I don't have an advisor, I don't have a court wizard, I'm...don't leave me alone again."

The most sensible thing to do in that moment would be to calmly set Elisif down and make an escape out the window. Instead, Dulurza looked at her for a moment, and nodded. "Alright. I won't."

Elisif's look was one of surprise as much as joy, and Dulurza grinned down at her, wiping her bloodied nose with one hand. "What did you expect? I'm yours to command, my Jarl." And she meant it. Whatever in Oblivion that might mean.

Dulurza separated them, and brushed down Elisif's shoulders in a gesture more symbolic than useful. "Now come on. The future High Queen does not beg things of her servants like some desperate wench. Get your act together."

Elisif laughed, reaching up to wipe the tears off her face.

That was when the doors were finally forced open.

"My lady!" Bolgeir shouted, vaulting the fallen bookshelf and immediately brandishing a sword at Dulurza. "Stay away from-"

"_Put your weapons down_." Jarl Elisif the fair demanded, drawing all eyes to herself. "_Immediately_. The danger here has already been dealt with."

Her chin was high, her posture straight, and her eyes narrow. Despite the dishevelled nightclothes and sunken eyes, it was still the most regal look Elisif had posed in a long time.

"But-" Bolgeir looked flabbergasted. "But that prisoner-"

"'That Prisoner'?" Elisif's derision was almost tangible. "Bolgeir, I strongly advise you rethink whatever you are about to say." She looked down at the corpse in the room and poked at it with one toe. "'That prisoner' has just saved my life. You and the rest of court had best refer to her by her proper title from this point forwards."

Bolgeir slowly lowered the tip of his sword, looking between the two people left in the room like he wasn't sure who was the more threatening. "And...what title is that?"

"Ah yes, I suppose I haven't announced it yet." Elisif gave a small smile. "This is Dulurza, daughter of Larak. Thane of Solitude."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Urag Gro-Shub looked up to see a young man walk in, trailing snow and dirt across the floor. "Huh. You survived. I've gotta admit, I wasn't sure-"

Alexander slammed a trio of books onto the desk, looking at Urag with deadened eyes. "Read these things. Tell me later if they have what I'm supposed to be looking for. I am going to _bed. _If anyone tries to give me _any more sidequests_ in that time, I will _not_ be held responsible for the consequences."

He turned around, and then yelled "And yes, that includes you, princess!" at a crystal on his belt as he was walking away.

Urag blinked, and pointed. "Is...that _Azura's Star_?"

"It's not worth the effort! Trust me!" Xander called over his shoulder, shoving open the doors to the Arcaneum and walking away.

"You there, mage." Ancano was waiting in the hallway. "I have some questions for-"

Xander completely blanked him.

After the field trip he'd just been on, there was sleep, and then there was everything else. Only one of those categories was going to get any progress tonight.

* * *

**?**

"Honey?" Was perhaps not a word you'd expect to hear in the base of the Dark Brotherhood, but it rang out nonetheless.

Arnbjorn looked up from sharpening his battleaxe. "Yes, dear?"

"You haven't, by any chance, been taking any errant strolls in Riften, have you?" Astrid asked her husband. The two sat in their shared quarters, Astrid was poring over some new reports she'd gotten.

"Not in the last few months." He replied, putting his weapon down."Why? Something come up?"

"You could say that." She purred. "An old woman has died."

"Really." He deadpanned. "Other breaking news: Water is wet. Skyrim is cold. The Stormcloaks are stupid. The Imperials are bit-"

"Quite enough sarcasm, thank you." She gave him an exasperated stare. "This wasn't a heart failure or someone freezing in the cold, dear. The woman in charge of Honourhall orphanage has been killed."

"One of us?"

"Not one of us. But definitely one of ours." He gave her a _look_ for the cryptic remark, and she elaborated. "A boy in Windhelm has been performing the Sacrament, asking for her death. I only learned about that yesterday. But it appears that someone...or something...got to her first."

"What 'thing' could get into Riften?" Arnbjorn asked. "It's walled. Unless it was skeevers coming up from the ratway, it's not like an animal could have gotten her."

"Ah, but you may be wrong." Astrid tapped the page she was currently reading. "Apparently, one of the Orphanage's children watched it happen. He claims some great furred beast leapt from the shadows on top of this Grelod woman, tearing her apart with it's claws before disappearing into the night. Quite an account. Oh, look, he's even included a little charcoal drawing, that's adorable~"

"A Khajiit?" Arnbjorn offered.

"A naked one, if so. The boy was adamant that it wasn't wearing anything, but thinks he might have seen a satchel of some kind on it's back."

"Oh." Arnbjorn caught on. He himself had a specific satchel that was tied to a very long strap, the type that could be fitted easily with very large unwieldy digits. Even, for example, claws. "You think it was a werewolf."

"It's a possibility." Astrid agreed. "And a werewolf very much in control of themselves, to be able to enter a city, kill one specific woman, and then leave unseen by anyone else."

"Seems like a stretch." Arnbjorn dismissed.

"Oh, I would agree." Astrid told him. "If I hadn't also been receiving reports from further west. You recall that that girl was killed just close by in Falkreath, and everyone blamed poor Sindig? Yet recently some _other _werewolf tore out of the city, and one of the guards swears Sindig was still in his cell at the time, though he later escaped in the chaos."

Arnbjorn raised an eyebrow.

"And." She continued. "There's more. An influential businessman by the name of Nepos was recently found dead off in Markarth. The coroner, a good friend of mine, claims that he's never seen wounds like it. Claw marks bigger than swords, he says, bites that no wolf could have made..." She looked up, and met her husband's eyes.

Arnbjorn sighed, and stood up. "I'll look into it."

"Thank you, beloved." She leaned back again. "I promise I'll make it up to you when you get back. But if there _is _a werewolf out there...one who's capable of committing assassinations across all of southern Skyrim...well, I'd certainly like to meet them." She palmed the blade of Woe at her hip, and smiled to herself. "After all. They owe us a kill."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Deep inside Cidnah mine, Madanach sat working at his desk. There was a knock on the wall outside his chambers. "Whatever it is, it can wait!" He shouted, not looking up. "I'm busy!"

"Actually, my king." Said the voice of Borkul the Beast, "I _really_ think you might want to see this."

"Hng." Madanach sighed, putting his quill down, and stood up from his chair. "Sure. Make the old man walk..."

He nodded to his Orc bodyguard, and followed him through the tunnel. "So what's the matter? Does it have anything to do with the chaos going on upstairs?"

"Oh, yeah." Borkul grunted. "It's one of the girls who did in Nepos."

"You're certain?"

"She admitted it."

"Hmph." Madanach scowled. "Bold of her. What's she doing in here?"

"Guards brought her in not half an hour ago. Say she strolled right in through the front gates and handed herself over." Borkul looked back at Madanach, expression unusually uncertain. "She...she says she's one of us. Says she knows you."

"What?" Madanach frowned, pushing past Borkul and walking out into the central room of the mine. His jaw dropped.

A woman with pale white hair stood in the middle of the cave. Two men were groaning at her feet, and she was just finishing choking another unconscious as Madanach entered. She looked up at him.

"...Hjarnagredda?" Madanach gaped.

"Madanach." She replied. She dropped the person she was strangling. "Long time no see, grandfather. Where's my damn girlfriend?"

* * *

**And with that, the first arc of this story comes to a close. Hjarnagredda makes some choices, and enters Cidnah mine. Xander has grown as a person, a warrior, and is beginning to develop the attitude all university students can recognise. Dulurza is technically doing amazingly at part one of the 'befriend then murder the Jarl' plan. As for L'laarzen...well, we're beginning to learn a lot more about her.**

**Now, sadly, this story will now be about to go on Haitus. Do not fret! It will return to weekly updates some time in the next 6-10 weeks, while I write the next part. In it's place, Thursdays will be occupied by a different story I've written, one that's only meant to be five or six chapters long. Now I don't know if this will appeal much to Skyrim players, but...have you ever heard of Steins;Gate?**

**Follow/Favourite so that you know when this continues, and feel free to check out anything else I've produced in the meantime (Ignore anything that started more than four years ago, it's trash).**

**And until we meet again, may the Gods watch over your battles, friend.**


	12. Meeting Expectations

**The year is 201 of the Fourth Era.**

**Alduin, aspect of Akatosh, first and king of the dragons, has torn free of a wound in time and aims to resurrect his fallen brethren. He feeds on those that die in Skyrim's ongoing civil war, growing ever stronger, as his kin sew chaos across the realm. It is the end times.**

**However, in accordance with prophesies of old, one has emerged with the power to consume the souls of these dragons. He is the Dragonborn; another aspect of Akatosh who has arisen in the world's time of need to defend it.**

**He rides to the summit of the Throat of the World, to High Hrothgar, to learn from the Greybeards there how to master his incredible innate power in the Voice. His mission is simple: to seek out Alduin and slay him. If he fails, Alduin will conquer the entirety of Skyrim, and from there, the entirety of Mundus.**

**But none of our protagonists give a toss about any of that.**

**Dulurza has become Thane of Solitude, yet is struggling to stay focused on her assassination mission when faced with how cute Elisif looks in that dress this morning.**

**Hjar's conflict with the wolf inside her grows, and worse, she languishes in Cidnah Mine. Now she has to attempt to restore ties with the Forsworn (her Forsworn kill count, at this point, is in the double digits) as she tries to ensure the safety of a woman she really ought to see as an enemy.**

**Alexander was so relieved after his liberation of Azura's star, and excited by his chance to finally become a distinguished magical author, that he almost forgot that he was supposed to be on a noble quest for extra-dimensional time wizards.**

**L'laarzen is embroiled in a tale of betrayal, greed, and revenge, as her esteem in the Thieves Guild grows. She is still trying really hard to not be a criminal, no matter how fantastic at crime she may be.**

**These are the Four Walking Disasters, and this is their story.**

* * *

**Act II: Uncovering Truth**

**Meeting Expectations**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"What in Auriel's name are you doing?"

Was not an outburst Alexander Meteuse had really expected to hear at that moment. He made a "mmf?" noise and turned in his chair to look behind him. His desk was covered in books, parchment, and one very particular soul gem. His mouth was latched onto the bottom corner of a sweet roll, his chin was covered in crumbs, and his eyes blinked up innocently.

The man (who had earlier introduced himself as Quaranir) looked down at him with no small amount of scorn, crossing his arms over his gold Psijic robes. "Don't make me ask again."

"Mr-hrr." Xander replied, around his sweet roll, and gestured to what he was writing.

"Right, your thesis on Saarthal." Quaranir pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your destiny is greater than this, young mage. What you desire cannot be found through quiet study."

"Mrrph!" Xander made a very indignant noise, as if that statement had somehow personally offended him.

"The danger only rises while you sit and wait." Quaranir scolded him. "Even now, the forces arrayed against you continue to grow, and your window for victory shrinks by every passing-" (Xander nodded, continuing to slowly chew through the sweet roll,) "_Will you stop that!_" Quaranir snarled.

Xander froze, then guiltily took the treat out of his mouth, swallowing. He let go of it in midair, and it floated there, time frozen for all but the two of them.

"Look, just-" Quaranir sighed. "Go ask someone about the Augur of Dunlain. He has your next quest hook."

"Right. Of course." Xander nodded. "The Augur of Dunlain. Dunlain's Augur. _That_ Augur-"

"I know you don't know who he is." Quaranir bit out. "Just...just go, okay? Remember when I said that you would be judged based on your actions to come? This is me judging."

"Yeah, but you were being really vague." Xander pointed out. "I thought finding the big blue ball was the whole thing. Wait, this quest doesn't get any harder than the invincible zombie, right?"

Quaranir stood there a moment, then just walked out of the room.

Time returned to normal. The sweet roll fell onto the floor, and promptly rolled into an ink-spill he'd left there earlier.

**That was amusing**. Echoed a feminine voice.

"_And here I thought that me getting a start this early in the morning counted as being productive-_yeah, 'amusing' is one word." Xander groaned, stood up, and stretched. "And by the way, how come you're talking to me? I've never heard anyone mention 'hey, Azura will occasionally strike up telepathic conversation with the person carrying her star'."

**Most people's souls don't take a trip through said star before they get to carry it**. Azura pointed out. **Besides, you entertain me**.

"Right. Any idea what that guy was on about?"

**Oh, absolutely. But it would be no fun for me to simply ****_tell_**** you.**

"Ugh. Fine. I'll go ask Tolfdir or something..."

* * *

A few minutes later, Ancano stormed through the doorway into Alexander's quarters, face livid. "Apprentice!" He snapped, "A member of the Psijic order was here looking for you! You are to accompany me at once to-"

"Not right now, already sorted it, busy, see you later-" Xander, carrying his staves and travel pack, barged right past the high elf without even making eye contact with him.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

There was a decent amount of buzz when Dulurza walked into Mor Khazgur. Made sense, it had been more than a few weeks since she'd left on her mission. Bagrak called out "Dulurza has returned!" As she entered, meriting a brief cheer from everyone else within the walls. A few came up to her with more direct greetings, and she responded in kind; heartily clasping forearms with Sharamph, and picking up one of the younger children and swinging her around, meriting a squeal of glee.

Dulurza found she had a wide, genuine smile on her lips as she made her way over to the chief's hut in the centre of the settlement. _I've missed this_.

That smile only got wider when she saw the woman on guard outside the hut.

"Borgakh!" Dulurza shouted, and "Sister!" Borgakh 'the Steel Heart' threw both her arms out, and the two Orcs crashed into each other with a hug.

"How you been, little sis?" Borgakh asked, squeezing.

"Little?" Dulurza shouted in mock outrage, breaking off and looming as hard as she could. "I'm half a head taller than you!"

"I was born first. I'm big, you're little. How fast you grew doesn't even factor." Borgakh chuckled, slapping her on one shoulder pad. "I take it you're headed in to see the chief?"

"Aye." Dulurza nodded. "How's he doing?"

"Stressed." Borgakh shrugged. "Grumpy. But when isn't he? Nothing's been able to knock him down before, I'm sure he'll manage."

"Hmph. Well, hopefully I'll be able to cheer him up." Dulurza walked past, pushing open the door.

"What, good news?" Borgakh called after her.

Dulurza paused, and grinned. "Pretty good news, yeah."

* * *

"Thane?" Chief Larak repeated, sat in his chair. It wasn't a throne, just the chair at his desk, something that was notably different to the Blue Palace. Orc Chiefs were supposed to be able to maintain their status without such symbols, and Larak certainly managed it; he was the only one in the camp that still loomed over Dulurza. "So what does it mean?"

"Right-hand, of a sort." She explained, sat across from him. "I protect her, and go out and complete tasks in her name. I represent her, represent Solitude. And it means I can go just about anywhere, get away with just about anything." Dulurza smirked. "She trusts me."

"Good!" Larak leaned forwards, clapping her on the shoulder. "I knew I could trust you with this. You continue to prove yourself to be the pride of Mor Khazgur."

Dulurza did _not_ blush. Such would be unbecoming of a warrior. But she did feel the need to lower her head. "Thank you, chief."

"The praise is deserved, daughter." The switch to familial language wasn't lost on her, as her father leaned backwards. "But there were complications, you mentioned?"

"There were. The court wizard was a vampire, trying some nasty witch tricks." Dulurza wrinkled her nose up. "She mentioned something before I ended her. Something about the Thalmor having plans for the city."

"Hmph." Larak grunted. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"You sure?" Dulurza warned. "If the Elves have plans for Solitude, then we might have to-"

"I _said_ don't worry." He cut her off, eyes hard. "And that's enough about it. We don't have to be concerned about the Thalmor, trust me."

"...Right." Dulurza nodded, after a moment. "And the Jarl...we have to kill her?"

"Have to?" Larak laughed, the seriousness leaving his face. "It's the whole reason you're there!"

"Aye, but I've been thinking." Dulurza explained. And she _had_ been thinking. Ever since she had very consciously and deliberately saved Elisif's life, she'd been thinking. "What if we kidnapped her instead? I can pull that off, I'm certain. If I did, we could ransom her, or order Solitude to surrender-"

"We aren't looking to _negotiate_ with the Man-city. We're going to _sack_ it." Larak reminded her. "Leave the capital of Nord Skyrim in shambles and assert our dominance over the land that we deserve. I thought you understood this?"

"I do! It's just-"

"Are you worried you won't get your fair share of glory?" He asked, with a chuckle. "Don't be. After you've pasted your axe red with that bitch's blood, you and I will lead the charge on the city together."

Dulurza's hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "Right." She bit out. "Together."

"You alright, lass?" He asked, noticing her distress. "You've been preoccupied our whole talk. Focusing too hard on the long fight?"

Dulurza sighed, and stood up. _Dammit. This trip was supposed to get rid of the doubts, not make them worse_. "No, I'm fine. Just remembered I have to get back to the city before last light."

"They want you present for some council?"

"Not exactly." Dulurza turned to the door, reaching back with one hand to touch the hilt of her new axe. "I'm handling an execution."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjarnagredda had decided that Cidnah mine was the worst place in the world, and if she had to spend too long in it without a break she would end up killing everyone around her and then herself. _As if my teamkill count wasn't high enough..._

She'd never liked enclosed spaces, even when she was a kid, and then when the Lycanthropy had took hold that phobia had gotten even worse. She was _not_ a woman meant for caves. Cidnah was worse than your ordinary dark, dank hole, however.

The air was dry, leaving her throat parched and rough, and it tasted of blood, sweat, smoke, and iron. Or rather, not iron: _silver_. It amazed her that there was so much of the stuff _left_, cold veins of it shimmering in the dim torchlight and cracking beneath the constant hammering of pickaxes. That was another problem. There were dozens of people in here all constantly striking away at the metal ore, crack after crack that echoed out through the caverns and left her ears perpetually ringing. Did they ever stop? They had to sleep _sometime_, right? Without the sun or moon, Hjar couldn't even guess what time it was, so for all she knew they just kept on mining in shifts, all throughout the night. Clanging and clanging away until her bones shook in rhythm with their arms.

And then, of course, there were the walls. Sharp, angular, dusty, that would give you a cut and an infection all in one if you so much as brushed against them wrong. And oh, was that easy, with how close you had to hug them just to fit through some of the passages. Everywhere she looked, every time she turned her back, it seemed there was a wall in the way, trapping her. Hundreds of miles of stone above, below, and around her, constantly pressing in on her to the point where her breathing sped up and she thought she might be suffocating-

_Come on, Hjar, there was so much righteous determination when you walked in here. Where's all that gone now?_

The voice sounded a lot like the remnants of her common sense, and she staunchly ignored it.

Instead, she focused her attention on the only reason she was in here. "Alright, grandfather. Explain to me how on Mundus you're still alive."

"Heh. That's an easy one: Weakness." Madanach chuckled, lowering himself into a seat opposite her. Despite his age, his posture was straight, and his eyes were sharp. "I told the Nords if they left me alive, I'd keep the Forsworn under control, stop them from causing trouble in the city. And then they only went and _agreed_. Idiots. If I'd been in their position I'd've stuck my head on a pike, pickled it, and staked it outside the city gates as an example." He grinned at her. "But of course, you already know about what I'm doing in here. I understand you've been doing quite some detective work in my city."

"Your city?" Hjar raised an eyebrow, accepting the ale he offered her and using it to wet her parched throat. "From what I saw, the Silver-Bloods own the city. _You_ are hiding in a cave like some common skeever."

"I'm exactly where I need to be." He gestured to his room, arms taking in the bed, his desk, and all the writing on it. "From here, I can affect anything in the city. If I want someone discredited, robbed, killed? All I have to do is pick up a pen."

"A power which you lend to the man keeping you here, when he asks for it." Hjar leveled her gaze at him. "Since when did the Forsworn murder innocent women in the streets?"

"We don't go after innocents. Don't need to. In this city, there's so many guilty going around it's hard to see an innocent through the throng." Madanach spat on the floor. "Ask around, if you wanna know more about what they've done. And besides, it's awful rich of you to call us murderers. Or what would you call what you did to Nepos?"

"I didn't know what Nepos was," Hjar lied, "and _I_ didn't attack _him_. It was the other way around." That part, at least, was true.

"Either way, you left a real mess." Madanach scrutinised her. "People were saying it was like a great wild animal went through there."

"One did." Hjar replied. She'd prepared for this. "A great white wolf. We were outnumbered and I needed to even the field." She smiled, when he made a confused face. "What, never heard of the 'summon familiar' spell?"

"Ah." He vocalised, relaxing slightly. Hjar did too, to an extent. _That's that part dealt with, at least, and it might net me a little leeway in the future, should I need to let loose and it leaves more evidence..._

Of course, only so much leeway. Hircine's cursed ring hung heavily on her finger, and the wolf paced angrily in her gut. Before, she'd been confident she could hold for a week between transformations. Now...she just didn't know. But she did know that if she didn't get a way out soon, it wouldn't matter how longs she could control herself. The beast _always_ got out eventually, and there was no room to hide in Cidnah mine.

"So why are you here?" Madanach asked her. "I haven't seen you since you were a babe. I can only imagine you were managing perfectly fine in one of the camps on the outside, why make your way into the city and cause a racket like this?"

Hjar sighed, looking away. "You've missed a lot. I split off from my camp a couple years ago."

"You _abandoned_ your family?" He looked about to start a rant, but she forestalled him with "They're _dead_. Mom and Dad. When I was fifteen or so, it's...one of the reasons I left."

All that was true too, in a way. Her mother had gone down fighting in a raid, and a few days later her father had gone out hunting, and never returned. They hadn't found his body, but hadn't expected to. Grief was grief, and such things were common when the bond between man and wife was strong enough. Of course, without them, even more eyes had turned to Hjar to step up to the plate, put in her fair share of work. Her prayers to Hircine had only increased from then on.

"Shame." Was all Madanach said, lowering his head. "Greta was a good lass. One of the best things that ever happened to me."

"I came back to Markarth to reconnect." Hjar explained, "Originally. But right now I have more pressing issues. I'm here for the woman I was investigating with."

"The redhead?" Madanach snorted. "That's who you were shouting about when you came in? You know she's the enemy-"

"She's _mine_." Hjar growled, then bit down on her tongue to try and get a grip. _Easy girl_... "I heard she was brought here. If you tell me she's dead, I will _not_ be happy."

"You need a better grasp on what's important, Hjarnagredda." He told her coldly. For a moment, panic flashed inside her, but then he said "She's not dead. At least, not that I know of. She was in Cidnah for questioning, aye, but she didn't stay long. She's a prisoner of the Silver-Bloods personally, now, which means she'll be locked up in one of their homes. Maybe even the keep itself."

"Perfect." Hjar muttered, standing up, "So I'm not even where I'm supposed to be. How do I get out?"

"Get out?" Madanach snorted. "Nobody escapes Cidnah Mine. Especially not when they've pissed off the owners to the level you have."

"Well I'm not spending my whole life just _sitting_ in here!" Hjar protested, but-

"Neither am I." Madanach told her. There was a gleam in his eyes. "You've made it quite clear that my current position isn't any good way to lead my people. But things are moving upstairs as well. For the first time in years the Silver-Bloods are making some odd moves...leave it with me. You'll get your chance to get out. For now, I'd recommend you talk to the other inmates. Each one of them has a story, Hjarnagredda. Plenty just as sad as yours."

"Sit and wait. Wonderful." Hjar sighed again, and moved to leave.

"Granddaughter?" He called, stopping her. She turned to look at him, and he smiled. "Good to have you back."

Despite everything, she smiled too. "Good to be back." _Let's hope this time, I can stay._

She walked out, leaving his gate-door to clatter shut behind her.

* * *

**8˂**

"And then they just...shared me around!" Sapphire cried. "Like I was...like I was nothing! I had to just sit there meekly for a fortnight and _endure_ it!"

"Oh, poor thing..." L'laarzen crooned, fingers shaping the girl's hair as gently as possible. Twenty minutes ago, Sapphire had been the most quiet, sullen, stone wall of a thief in the entire guild. And now she was pouring her heart out. Amazing, what a non-judgmental ear could do. "But this one was able to escape, yes?"

"I was." Sapphire nodded, fists tightening in her lap. "They got complacent with me. I found a dagger, and slit all their throats as they slept."

"Oh, ruthless." L'laarzen said, making sure her tone was approving.

"You're not..." Sapphire didn't seem to know what to say.

"Disappointed? Upset?" L'laarzen chuckled. "While she prefers to avoid it herself, Khajiit knows full well that violence is often necessary. Bandits and ravagers are far from the kindest individuals in Skyrim. You will find no scorn here."

"Thanks." Sapphire relaxed, which made it much easier for L'laarzen to finish her cut. "It's...good to finally get it off my chest."

"Holding such memories inside can be a very heavy burden." L'laarzen agreed. "Khajiit would know."

"...Do you have those kinds of memories?" Sapphire asked, hesitantly.

"Some." L'laarzen smiled, sadly. "But Khajiit has a strong back, and will be able to carry them for a long while yet. Ah, but this one never told Khajiit her real name?"

"Oh, yeah." Sapphire realised. "I didn't, did I? Well...I've never said this to anyone else, but-"

"Hey! Khajiit!"

L'laarzen's ears pricked in annoyance, as her customer jumped up out of her chair so fast she stumbled over the nearby table.

Mercer Frey walked into L'laarzen's guild quarters, expression as cold as it always was.

"Guildmaster." Sapphire inclined her head. "We were just, uh,"

"You're a Nord, correct, Sapphire?" Mercer asked.

"I-Yes?"

"So when I said Khajiit, did you assume I was referring to you?"

Sapphire looked down, blushing. "Well, no, I didn't-"

"Then take the hint. Scram."

Sapphire nodded, tossed five septims to L'laarzen, and gave Frey a wide berth on her way out. L'laarzen exhaled, and put her scissors down. _And now, her hair will be looking uneven until I can get to her to finish it..._ "Mercer!" She beamed up at him. "Always a pleasure!"

"Glad to hear it." He replied, with a smile that made it clear he knew damn well she was lying to him. "Pack your things. You and me are doing a job together."

Now, _that_ was interesting. "To do with Karliah, I presume?"

"You presume correct." Mercer moved in and leaned on the chair Sapphire had just vacated. "You said she was 'going back to where it all began'. I only know one place that could mean. Snow Veil Sanctum. The place where she killed Gallus. And now we know where she is, we can go and kill her."

"Odd, that she would mutter such a clue in Gulum-Ei's earshot." L'laarzen warned. "This could be a misdiretion, or a trap."

"It's definitely a trap." Another smile, this one vicious. "Me, Karliah and Gallus were the old guard, the backbone of the guild, we worked together for years. If she kills me, there won't be anyone with a chance of stopping her."

Something was off about that logic, but L'laarzen put the thought away for now. "And you would like L'laarzen to accompany you? Why?"

"Well, you're the guild's rising star, aren't you?" He chuckled. "Certainly making a name for yourself. I want to take a look at how you work for myself."

_Do not reveal any personal tricks on this mission, understood._

He left the chair, walking back to the door. "I'll meet you there." He told her. "Snow Veil is up near Winterhold, anyone in the nearby area will be able to point you to it."

_Winterhold. Chilly. If L'laarzen hires a horse she should be able to make it there by tomorrow morning-_ "And make sure you get there fast." He said. "I don't like being made to wait." _...Or, Khajiit could walk. Take the scenic route. There are some lovely landmarks to visit on the way_.

"Understood." She replied, inclining her head.

"Oh, one other thing." He turned back to her. "I have been told that you don't like violence, and refuse to kill. Is that true?"

"L'laarzen prefers to avoid it, yes." She replied. Her eyes narrowed, and she let just a little _intent_ bleed out. "But her rules do not apply to contract breakers, or traitors. And this Karliah appears to have done both."

Mercer seemed satisfied with what he saw. He nodded once more, and left the room.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Xander was _bloody freezing_, and he regretted every choice he'd ever made.

"Hey, let's build our wizard school in the coldest part of Skyrim! Hey, let's build a cellar in the _bottom_ of that wizard school where we keep our secret magic stuff, and let's send the apprentices down there on fetch quests! Screw you Tolfdir! The _walls_ are made out of _ice_!"

The walls echoed at his shout (not because it was a Shout, he was just complaining really loudly) but there wasn't a reply.

Of course not.

He'd only been wandering for _two hours_.

"Bet the Dragonborn would have found him by now." Xander muttered. "Bet he's met fifty Augurs already. Just by accident in between dragon slays. Slayings? Hunts? Bet he doesn't have to _hunt_, bet dragons just show up to come see him, unlike _Augurs_ to _Me_."

His breath fogged in front of him, and he pulled his robes tighter around himself and scowled.

Not for the first time, he considered pulling his flame staff off his back and shooting it at his feet.

Not for the first time, common sense reminded him that he was carrying a torch, and that refilling staff enchantments cost money. _An enchantment to magically heat your robes...note to self, work on that._

"Okay, for real this time!" He shouted, not in any particular direction. "Mister Augur? Missus Augur? Tolfdir didn't give me a pronoun I shouldn't assume...Gender Nonspecific Of-Dunlain? If you're there, could you maybe just, reply?"

There was an ominous click.

Xander looked left, to where a door (that had been locked on his first pass through the area, he was sure of it) slowly creaked open. A blue glow emanated from behind it.

**Did you actually expect that to work?** Asked Azura from his hip.

"Not at all. Shut up."

Xander walked through the doorway.

Behind it was a small corridor, which opened up into an (also small) cylindrical room, its design very similar to that of the central rooms in the college above. It even had one of those weird glowing well things.

Floating in the centre of the room..._oh. Oho._ Xander had absolutely _no idea_ what was floating in the centre of the room.

"**There is no solace in knowing what is to come.**" Said the glowing, translucent blue sphere, hovering above the floor. "**Your perseverance will only lead to disappointment. Your persistence is admirable, yet you-**"

"What on Mundus are _you_?" Xander gaped up at it, wide eyed.

"**I am the Augur of-**"

"No no no, _what_ are you? You're not a Daedra, not if you're permanently stuck here in this form, you're not an aedra, too lucid, you're not a ghost, at least not a normal one, you'd take the form you took in life, you're...is this an illusion? Are you a magical construct being puppeted by someone upstairs?"

"**I am my own being.**" The Augur replied. "**And I will not yield my secrets to such simple questioning.**"

"Yeah, but...you could~?" Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles.

"**I'm afraid not.**" It said, quite simply, meriting a pout. "**There are many like you, in the college. Such burning curiosity. You desire knowledge, and you take every possible shortcut to find it.**"

"So? There is honour in pursuit of knowledge." Xander retorted, quoting one of his personal mantras. "It's not a bad thing to do."

"**There is honour in discovering fundamental truth. Honour in _making_ knowledge. But none in simply claiming that of others. If the student reads the hidden works of his master, he may know the answers. But he will not have asked the question, spent the time attempting to understand. The journey is essential to the destination.**"

"Yeah, but what's the alternative, waste time doing what's already been done?" Xander replied. "Waste thirty years creating a spell that someone's already created when I could spend that time making a new one? I'm hardly going to run out of mysteries. The world is so big, I mean, if we spent all our time discovering what people had already discovered, we'd never make any progress!"

"**Yet has any progress been made?**" The Augur asked. "**Do you believe that mage students today are any stronger than they were centuries ago? How much knowledge is lost, burned, hidden from era to era?**"

Xander blinked. "Well...a lot, I'll admit. But we're working on getting it back!"

"**Precisely. Children's heads are filled with stories of the great mages of the past. They are taught to go and seek those out, rather than make their own discoveries. To hoard magical artefacts, to receive their own boost into legend from learning some great spell, left in a dungeon by a long dead wizard. 'Greatness is in the past', the mages of today are told, 'go forth and rediscover it'.**"

Xander frowned, and thought about it. "You're saying the same thing's happening here..." he looked up towards the ceiling. "The Eye. Everyone's abuzz over it. Heck, before we had it, the mages were looking through Saarthal for knowledge about the magics of the past...you think we're going about the search the wrong way?"

"**You listen.**" The Augur said, sounding appreciative for the first time. "**There, you do more than most. The Thalmor who came before you had no such patience for my wisdom.**"

Xander thought for a moment about that tidbit, then decided it wasn't important. "So what's the solution? How do we get better?"

The glowing blue sphere was silent.

"Ugh. Right, I have to figure it out myself." Xander rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "Okay, so...why do people hide knowledge from each other? One, because it's dangerous. You don't want novices trying to use the spells that summon unbound Dremora or drain people's life force. Two...competitive advantage. If you're the only one who knows a helpful spell, everyone has to come pay you if they want you to use it. And if it's harmful, then being the only one who knows how it works means nobody else can turn it on you or work out how to stop it."

He frowned. "And because it's faster to chase down other peoples' cool spells than make your own...society's caught in a constant loop of finding and losing the same stuff. Huh, you're right. I mean, they've changed up how they define the schools of magic a few times, some spells have gone in and out of fashion, I'm pretty sure the novice and apprentice healing spells have become more streamlined over time, but other than that? Not much has changed in...ever. And organisations like the Psijic Order that hoard all their crazy stuff to themselves _aren't helping_!"

Quaranir, if he was listening, didn't answer.

"**And your solution?**" The Augur asked, impassively.

"Well, issue one is perfectly valid." Xander admitted. "If evil mages are caught in a constant cycle trying to find a new 'end the world' spell, then great. As for issue two...someone'll have to take the loss. Develop a teleportation spell and then _not_ keep it to themselves." He grit his teeth. "No, wait. Even if that makes things easier for the world, it's not going to improve our overall knowledge of magic in any way. Same if people share their new murder-spells, it doesn't help if there's a new, more efficient way to violence each other. What we need is a new fundamental way of looking at things. Focusing on learning the rules, not just making new spells. Then explaining how we did it, making it reproducible, sharing that knowledge with other people in the hopes that they share what they learn back..."

"**It would not be enough for one mage to attempt the practice.**" The Augur told him. "**It would require organisation. A group, wherein members could access the information the others had attained so long as they were willing to share their own.**"

"And one of the big magical institutions would have to spearhead it," Xander nodded, "So that once they had enough hoarded up, others would want to enter the group to get in on the extra knowledge...somewhere like the college of Winterhold."

There was a pause.

"**The staff of Magnus.**" The Augur stated.

"Uh, come again?"

"**To see through Magnus' eye without being blinded, you will require his staff.**"

"Magnus? That thing is an artifact of _t__he_ Magnus?" Xander pointed upwards, gaping. "That's...wow. Not Aedric, then. _Magna-Ge_. Crap, I owe Tolfdir five septims...wait, why are you telling me this now?"

"Y**ou have demonstrated a willingness to think. To change your mind.**" The Augur replied. "**You, a simple liar, are more _awake_ than anyone else who has come to me.**"

"Hey! That's not-"

"**Do not seek to ply your trade with me. You have all the magical power of a soggy cream treat.**" Xander's posture visibly sagged as though to match the description, as the Augur continued. "**However...you are what the college needs. The path you walk is good and true, and so I am willing to help you. Speak with Mirabelle Ervine about finding the staff of Magnus. You will require it in times ahead, and attempting to discern the secrets of the Eye without it would be...unwise.**"

"Noted. Thank you for your help." Experienced enough with authority to know when he was being dismissed, Xander turned to leave.

He paused at the doorway however, looking back. "Do you...not think I can be a mage?"

"**Such is only a label.**" Was the Augur's response. "**You can only ever be yourself. There is nothing you can become that you are not capable of, and nothing you are capable of that you cannot become.**"

"Inspirational." Xander deadpanned. "What does it mean."

"**Ask yourself what being a mage _means_. And then stop moping around doing philosophy, and do what you believe a mage should do.**"

The light dimmed, as the Augur's form disappeared.

"Got it. First step is to be a cryptic asshole." Xander sighed, turning back to the exit. "Right. Now, can I remember the way out..."

* * *

**LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE ARE BACK IN BUSINESS!**

**Here I go with the first chapter of Arc II of this shipwreck. After taking a long time to sit back and really _think _about things, I can proudly state that I still have little more than a vague outline of the long term plot of this thing. So, you know. Hey, I'll probably be able to make it _look _like I knew what was going on the whole time. **

**As stated in the chapter that briefly existed in the 12 slot prior to this one, sorry it took me so long to get around to continuing. Once again, you'll get ten (ish) weekly chapters until the end of this arc, before another hiatus of an unknown length. I doubt it'll be half a year this time though. Again, not really much else for me to do at the moment... **

**Next Time: Someone gets a noble drunk, someone isn't that happy with violence, and someone gets hired for a fight.**

**(I guarantee you won't be able to guess which 'someone' is which...)**


	13. Acting

**Last Time: Dulurza talked to her Dad, Hjarnagredda talked to her granddad, L'Laarzen talked to her boss and Xander talked to a weird floating ball.**

* * *

**Acting**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Mirabelle Ervine watched, smiling, as Alexander Meteuse helped one of the other students with their spellwork.

"Oh dear!" Brelyna Maron gasped, looking down at a rabbit that was looking unusually green. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I almost did that to you!"

"It's alright." Xander laughed easily. "It might be nice that Winterhold has less rules and regulations than the Mages guild, but those rules are there for a reason. 'Don't use sentients as test subjects' is a fairly sensible one, I think."

"I'm so sorry." The Dunmer woman was blushing, "I shouldn't have asked, you must have thought I was trying to kill you-"

"It's _fine_." Alexander insisted. "It's better you came to me than, I don't know, Osmund. You might have turned him into a horse!"

Brelyna laughed, relaxing, and he continued. "I can't promise to have the answers, but feel free to come to me if you have questions or just want advice. I know what it's like to have questions that seem 'too stupid' to ask a teacher. Heck, I know what it's like to make these kinds of mistakes. Rest in peace, Synod's brand new west wing, you will be missed..."

"You...do?" Brelyna asked hesitantly. "You know what it's like to make mistakes?"

"Yes, of course. Why, did you think I've never messed up?"

"Well..." Mirabelle looked on with amusement as Brelyna's posture shrank in on itself even further. "I mean, you're you."

"Uh." Said Alexander, eloquently.

"You've helped all the students at one time or another, you went into Saarthal and you found, well, that." She pointed at the Eye of Magnus floating in the centre of the hall, which (Mirabelle made sure to note) _Xander_ had been the one to identify.

Brelyna continued, "And people are saying you broke into a fortress full of rogue mages! And you fought through all of them just to retrieve some books for the college, is that true?"

"Well, I mean, I had _help_." Now Alexander was the one blushing. Mirabelle had seen it more than once; exceptionally talented students who struggled to admit their own brilliance. He coughed, trying to compose himself. "That's a lesson, I suppose. Everyone makes mistakes. I bet even our Archmage has done some dumb things from time to time."

"Right. Thank you, that's good to hear." Brelyna nodded. Hesitantly, she asked "I...don't suppose you could show me the proper way to do it? You could try it on me, if you want. Consider it my apology, I'm sure you won't mess it up the way I did."

"Um." Alexander suddenly looked very nervous. "Ehehe, here's the thing-"

_Ah. He doesn't want to isolate himself further._ Mirabelle recognised. _If he does it correctly first time she'll be disheartened, but if he deliberately gets it wrong, poor Brelyna might be glowing blue for the next half a day._

She decided to bail him out. "Mister Meteuse?" She called, walking over. "A word, if I may?"

"Of course." He replied, giving her a grateful look that she returned with a subtle wink. He looked back at Brelyna and said "Don't worry. You're from the Maryon family, I'm sure you'll nail this in no time."

She looked down, lips pursed, which Alexander clearly noticed. He continued "Buuuut, I get the feeling I've just said the wrong thing. Sorry."

"No, it's fine!" The girl reassured. "It's just...I came here because I _didn't_ want to be judged based on my family ancestry."

"Ah. Then I really am sorry." Alexander did genuinely look it, eyes downcast. "I know what it's like to want to get away from a family name."

"You...do?" She asked, eyes widening.

"Oho, yes. When everything you do right is the family's win, and you're terrified of doing wrong for fear of it reflecting poorly on them...Er, excuse me." He shook himself as though trying to lose a thought, gave her a small bow, and walked over to where Mirabelle was waiting, leaving Brelyna staring after him in awe.

"That was skilfully handled. Well done." Mirabelle told him once he reached her. "The line between hubris and false modesty can be a thin one, but you walked it like you had a clairvoyance spell telling you where to go."

"Well, I've had lessons." He chuckled. "Knowing the right thing to say is one of the few things I'm actually good at."

"Well, I'd imagine magic is another?"

"Oh." He blinked. "Right, yes, obviously."

She chuckled._ I like him_. "But I didn't just call you over here to save you from an awkward situation with your classmate. Tolfdir told me that you were asking questions about the Staff of Magnus?"

"Oh, yes. That." Alexander scratched the back of his head. "Funny thing about that; ancient relics wielded by gods in the Dawn Era aren't exactly easy to track down."

"I imagine most people would say the same thing about the Eye." Mirabelle pointed out. "And in this case, I do have a lead for you. Some time ago, a few members of the Synod arrived at our doors."

"What?" Alexander's face went white. "When? Why? Did they mention me? How did they know I was here?"

"_Relax_." She reassured him, smiling at his (obviously put on) overreaction. "This was months ago. The Archmage has briefed me about your...'unique' situation. I wouldn't tell them about you if they asked."

"Oh, thank you." He sagged.

"I'm bringing this up because they were asking about the Staff as well." Mirabelle explained, remembering the event with a frown. "They seemed to believe we had it stuffed in a closet somewhere. Anyway, once we finally got them to leave, they said they were heading off to Mzulft."

"Mzulft?" Xander frowned. "That's the, uh, the Dwemer ruin, right? Why would they be heading there?"

"I'm not sure." Mirabelle admitted. "From their words...I might be remembering imperfectly, so allow me some leeway, but it seemed more like they expected Mzulft to help their search, not that they thought the staff would be there."

"They'd have to have been either certain or desperate." Xander replied, thinking. "Dwemer ruins means two things; automatons and Falmer. To go delving in there they'd have to be either stupid or..." He paused, eyes widening in realisation.

"Or very powerful." Mirabelle completed the sentence. "If you were a normal student, I wouldn't be telling you about this. Yet, and I hope you don't mind me saying this, we both know you aren't. If you want a lead on the Staff of Magnus..."

"I'm going to have to go down there." Alexander's expression was difficult to read. "Oh, perfect...Well, if the Synod went first, they probably cleared most of the natives out, right?"

"I think I'd rather fight a Dwarven Centurion than negotiate with Synod mages." Mirabelle joked. "But I suppose you'll have to see when you get there." She stepped forwards and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay safe, understand? It would be a loss for you to perish in some forgotten dungeon."

"Oh, trust me, I have every intention of minimising danger as much as possible." He reassured her. His eyes narrowed. "Whereabouts is Mzulft?"

"Somewhere between Windhelm and Riften, unless I'm mistaken."

"Oh, perfect. I don't suppose the College has horses I can borrow?"

"Not usually." Mirabelle gave him a sly smile. "But, I'll see what I can do."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza leaned slightly to the left, and as quietly as she could whispered "So I just...kill him?"

Jarl Elisif the Fair, looking distractingly resplendent in her choice of dress that morning, leaned slightly to the right. "That's the general idea. By cutting off his head, ideally."

"Hn." Dulurza nodded. "So, why's it such a spectacle?"

The two were stood on the raised dais where executions took place in Solitude. There was a worryingly large crowd waiting at the bottom of it.

"Imperial culture bleeding over." Elisif whispered back. "As I understand it, these affairs are far simpler in Windhelm. But there's been an assassination attempt on the Jarl, and you're the big hero who saved her." A smile rose to her lips, more bitter than Dulurza was used to seeing there. "This isn't about justice. The people want a show."

"Hmph. Alright, I'll give them one." With that, Dulurza walked forwards, crossing behind the ominous chopping block and stopping in front of the executionee.

Ahtar looked up at her, eyes narrowed. The irony of the executioner being executed was not lost on Dulurza (this was going to make a _great_ campfire story) but it wasn't particularly important to the moment. Instead she just cracked a grin and said "How's your head?"

His glare intensified. There was a large, dark lump in the middle of his forehead from where she'd bashed it against the cage bars and then slammed the butt of her axe into it. "Not bad." He grit out. "Don't suppose I could say it rejigged my brain and made me realise the error of my ways?"

"Heh." Dulurza turned her head out to the crowd. "I don't know, can he?"

There was a resounding "BOO!" from the audience, which wasn't technically a yes or no, but even for someone who wasn't great with social cues, it was pretty telling.

Dulurza turned back to Ahtar, and while the noise continued, quietly asked "You're a Redguard. Born in Skyrim?"

"...Came here when I was young." He answered, after a moment. "Never felt like I fit in."

"Hm." She nodded, slowly. "So, do you want to die on your knees, with what the Nords call honour?"

His gaze hardened. "No."

She stepped back, looked at the guards to either side of him, and called out "Cut his bonds! And give him an axe."

The crowd went silent.

The guards shifted uncomfortably as Ahtar smiled, and Dulurza stepped backwards, drawing her own axe (the executioner's axe) from her back. "If he goes for anyone except me, gut him. If he kills me, gut him. If he wins and spares me, let him leave."

"Are you out of your mind?" Bolgeir Bearclaw walked up and grabbed her by the shoulder, hissing into her ear.

"If he wins, he's earned either my life or his own." Dulurza explained, still addressing the crowd. "Of course, he won't," That got scattered laughter and whoops, "but a warrior deserves to die with a weapon in his hand."

"Do as she says." Elisif's voice echoed out over her, cold and commanding, and the guards (obviously uncomfortable) obeyed.

Ahtar didn't really seem to know what do with his expression, as the binds were removed. He rolled his wrists to work blood-flow back into his fingers, and took the steel axe he was offered tentatively, as though expecting to get feathered with arrows the moment he took it.

Dulurza just let herself fall into an easy stance, testing the weight of her own axe in her hands. _Is this necessary? No. But will it be fun?_

She grinned, and called out "Are you ready?"

"As ready as a man can be to face his death." Ahtar took a few test swings with his axe, and then faced her, eyeing her critically. "Not sure how I feel about you. On the one hand, you ruined my life. On the other, you at least did it with some semblance of honour."

"You're welcome." Dulurza chuckled. "Wanna kiss and make up?"

Ahtar paused. Looked down. "...No." and then his axe was flying towards her head.

She ducked past the swing, laughing. "Hah! Me neither, you ugly bastard!" And then her own axe was flying back at him.

It was a bloody good fight, all things considered. Ahtar knew what he was doing, maintaining a wide two-handed grip on his weapon and keeping his guard strong. Far from the chaos of conflicts with stupid draugr or vampire mages, this was a duel, the two combatants circling each other and launching strikes from every angle, testing each other's defences. It was a welcome relief for Dulurza, who hadn't had a chance for proper one-on one combat since she'd started this mission weeks ago.

She allowed herself a brief few seconds to focus her shortfight on just enjoying herself; savouring the burn in her muscles, the clang of steel on steel and the whoops of the crowd.

And then she focused on ending it.

Dulurza was bigger and stronger than him, because of course she was, and she started to leverage it, forcing him backwards across the platform. To his credit he didn't crack under the pressure, his breathing was even and his grip remained firm on his weapon. _Heh. When grandma said Redguards have impressive stamina, I thought she just meant in the-_

A clever counter-swing from him almost cut off her nose, drawing a red line across its bridge, and she scowled.

On their next clash, she stepped in close, closer than anyone with a polearm weapon had any right to. Her lead arm held onto her axe high up the shaft and she blocked his next swing one handed, bringing her other fist round to punch him across the jaw. He staggered, but didn't fall, but it let her push his axe round and down towards the floor. Her boot came up, then down, and with a roar she snapped the haft of his weapon in two.

The crowd roared their approval as she swayed back beyond his retaliatory swing with the (now hand)axe, then darted back in and slammed the haft of her weapon into his forehead.

"Will you stop that!" He roared, stumbling, as she rushed in, hooking her axe around his front, putting one leg behind his, and twisting her hips. He was off the ground for less than a second before slamming into the floor with a grunt.

Dulurza stepped back and allowed herself to showboat a little, raising her axe high into the air (though she never once took her eye off of him. Her father had once pulled a fast one on her while she was showing off, and she'd never lived it down).

"Come on, Redguard!" She told him. "You said you didn't want to die on your knees! Get up!"

"I've made up my mind." Ahtar growled, getting his hands underneath him. "You're a real nasty bitch."

"And you had Falk killed." Dulurza shot back. "So I'm all you deserve."

"Enough." The voice cut through the banter like ice through the hull of a ship. Dulurza turned to see Elisif as it's source, eyes unusually dark and cold.

"Finish this." The Jarl demanded. "Now. End the traitorous scum."

That was so far from Elisif's usual manner of speaking that Dulurza was genuinely taken aback, giving her Jarl a confused look.

The distraction cost her. Ahtar, in a final surge of adrenaline, cried out "For my ancestors!" Jumping up to his feet and snatching up the snapped wooden haft of his weapon. Before Dulurza could turn and defend herself, he had charged her, jamming the stick into her midsection.

It was a serious blow. Or, it would have been, had she not been wearing the best armour forged in Haafingar. The wooden spike skittered along the Orcish mail and dug into her lower abdomen at an odd angle, breaking through her under tunic and then skin with a sharp sting of pain.

Dulurza saw red. She brought her axe haft down on his forehead, then up under his chin, snapping his head upwards, before driving it into his throat and forcing him off of her. He gargled, but didn't have time to do much else. She kicked him in the groin, and when his arms naturally fell, stepped to the side and swung her blade upwards.

She'd kept her promise. He was still on his feet when his head went flying off his shoulders.

The crowd went wild, as blood spurted and the head went to hit some poor guard in the chestplate, turning his armour even redder. They went even wilder when Dulurza yanked the wooden haft out of herself and buried it right in the body's heart, making it flop backwards onto the stone.

She checked if she was bleeding, concluded that she was but it wasn't that big a deal, and turned back to her Jarl.

Elisif was still staring at the body, initially with a look of cool indifference, but that gradually morphed into one of clear discomfort, and even confusion. She winced, taking a step back.

Dulurza was at her side in an instant.

"Are you alright, my Jarl?"

"I'm fine." Elisif put a hand to her forehead, face drawing into a frown. "I just have a headache, it's..." she shook her head. "I grow tired. Bolgier, dispose of this mess. I'll be in my quarters."

"As my Jarl commands." Bolgier saluted, and set to work, ordering the guards about as the crowd began to disperse.

Elisif started her walk back to the Blue palace. Unsettled, Dulurza followed her.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

As an Imperial spy, Margret's current predicament was far from her first time in a prison cell. This one got an...eight out of ten, on the pleasantness rating.

That was largely because it wasn't really a cell. It was a room, in fact a very ornate room, in a very ornate house in a very ornate area of Markarth. That last part was what dropped it from a ten though; seriously, this entire city's architecture looked like a prison anyway. _Probably why their actual prison has to be a mine, otherwise none of the citizens would even appreciate that they're being punished..._

Still, she had a bed, a desk and mirror, a fireplace and a table to eat at. The door to the room was mercifully left closed (though locked from the outside) and the guard posted at the entrance was polite enough to knock before coming in, leaving her at least a modicum of privacy. Using which she could...read, and that was about it. She had a bookcase, but it was full of such riveting titles as 'Modern History of the Reach, Volume IV'. _Is this all the rich have to do all day? No wonder they all start so many wars, they must be bored stiff..._

There was a knock at the door. Margret glanced at it, considered actually getting out of bed, and decided she didn't care. "Come in!"

The door clicked open and in walked Betrid Silver-Blood, carrying a canvas bag.

The woman gave Margret a look that immediately had her feeling self conscious, before sighing and walking over to the table, pulling a chair out for herself. "I suppose I can't judge you for presentability. Not like you have much need to make a good presentation now you're caught..."

Feeling somehow sheepish (_why am I embarrassed? I'm her Divines-damned prisoner!_) Margret hopped up out of bed, walking over to the table.

"Um, no, I suppose." She said, before floundering. What was she supposed to say?

Betrid reached into her bag, pulled out a bottle, and put it down on the table. "Here. A gift. I know how dull it can be trying to pass the time stuck in Dwarven halls. This is the best method I've been able to come up with."

Margret eyed the bottle's label as she sat down. _Firebrand wine? Expensive gift..._ "Oh. Thank you...Why?"

"Well, you did save my life, remember?" Betrid chuckled. "I'm not so heartless that I don't appreciate that. If there's anything I can get you, feel free to ask."

"You could get me out of here?" Margret tried, giving her most hopeful look.

"Hah!" Betrid let out a short bark of derisive laughter, leaning back. "Darling, allow me to rephrase. You saved my life, which means I'll do anything for you that won't put my life in danger. Specifically, this nice comfy life I hold as the wife of the richest man in the Reach. Otherwise there would hardly be much point in you saving said life, would there?"

Margret tried to hide her disappointment. She'd come to know a lot of women like Betrid in her line of work. The 'apathetic noble' type. Not evil, not actively, and in fact quite pleasant to be around once you got to know them. But selfish, to the ultimate degree. _Well, I can't complain. She's commit less crimes than me, for certain, and besides: _

_I don't have to like her to make use of her._

"May I?" Margret reached for the bottle. When Betrid nodded and gestured, she took it, unscrewing the cork and pouring two glasses.

"Then can you at least tell me what Thonar actually _wants_ from me?" She asked, pushing one glass over to her host. "He's had me locked up in here for days now, and I haven't so much as seen him."

"Oh, he doesn't care about you one bit. Thank you." Betrid took the glass, and then a far faster gulp than a vintage of that quality deserved. "Mm. He's only interested in that girlfriend of yours."

This was the moment where Margret officially gave up on correcting people on that. She took a much more careful sip of the wine, before asking "Hjar? What's she matter to him? She's not done anything besides kill some of his enemies and scarper."

"'Hyaa'. What kind of a name is that anyway?" Betrid finished her glass, and then reached over to pour another. By Margret's eye, she'd probably had something to drink before even entering the room. "Well, I say he's 'interested' in her. It's more that she's just one of a few variables he has to worry about. One side-quest in his journal, so to speak, one he's quite happy to give up a room in his home to account for." Betrid leaned back in her chair, looking up in the ceiling. "It's this Forsworn conspiracy that's had him all worked up recently. He has this board up on his wall with a dozen red strings drawn between names and sketches of different parties. City's gone mad, I say. Almost as mad as that old git who's been stalking around the house lately."

Margret tilted her head. "Logrolf? The gutter-skeever who got me caught?"

Betrid's expression soured. "Oh, yes. That one. I don't know what Thonar is thinking listening to him. Sharp, yes, you can see it in his eyes, but clearly unhinged. He came up with the whole plan, you see: Keep you locked up here, and your shouty girlfriend will come back to try and save you."

"And what does he want with Hjar?" Margret asked.

"Oh, I'm fairly certain he wants her head on a spike. I know a grudge when I see one." Betrid huffed. "But Thonar just wants her out of the way. I mean come on, the woman _does not know_ how to avoid kicking beehives."

"You know, if you let me and her go, we'd probably never even come here again?" Margret tried.

Betrid rolled her eyes. "Heh. Sure. I'll bring it up to the man of the house."

"So, care to give me the run-down on this conspiracy?" Margret asked, watching the level of liquid in Betrid's glass dwindle once more. _There you go. This is good. We are learning_.

"Hah! Oh, I can try, but it's chaos. I'd need my husband's board." Betrid sighed. "Well let's see...there's the Forsworn, obviously. Madanach lives in the mine and he runs those. Most obey him, some don't. At this point Madanach and my husband have both decided they're going to kill each other, but neither are quite sure how to do it without getting killed themselves, especially since neither are really sure who to trust. Up in Understone Keep, Jarl Igmund (and the Thalmor he licks the boots of) have no idea any of this is happening." She squinted. "He's pro-Empire, do you work for him?"

"He doesn't know I'm here, no." Margret admitted, tilting her glass with a smile. "Though as your husband said, I'm apparently not as good a spy as I think I am."

"Hmmhmm. Funny." Betrid did what would have been called a giggle from someone younger, but didn't come off nearly as cute from a drunk thirty-plus woman. "Anyway he wants all the Forsworn dead, so once we deal with this for him he'll probably be very pleased with us. That's good for Throngvor, he puts in the work playing politics up at the palace. Wish my man would spend more time working on the political angle, but no, he's quite content to role over and cede all that power to his brother. Course Throngvor hates the Thalmor, so I have no idea how he's going to last up there." She frowned. "Come to think of it, that means he probably doesn't know about Thonar's elf buddies. That's odd, not like those two to keep secrets from each other..."

_Oh?_ Margret leaned forwards. "Thonar has elf buddies?"

That was, of course, when the door slammed open again.

Thonar Silver-Blood (himself having nowhere near enough courtesy to knock) strode into the room, taking one look at the pair of them and scowling. "Oh, for goodness sake...Betrid, dearest, what in Oblivion are you doing in here?"

"I'm talking to your pretty young prisoner!" Betrid retorted, scraping her chair around to face him. "It's not like any of the men in this house have anything interesting to say."

"You're drunk." Thonar glared at her.

"Well of _course_ I'm drunk!" Betrid pouted right back. "What else do I have to do?"

"Which _means_ she's trying to get information out of you." Thonar turned his glare on Margret, who turned away and began whistling innocently to herself.

"Oh, of course she is, 'darling', do you think me stupid?" Betrid huffed. "But I don't care! She can't go anywhere, can she? I could shout 'Thonar has Thalmor contacts!' as loud as I wanted and it wouldn't-"

There was a crack sound.

Beitild looked up in shock at Thonar's forearm, hovering inches from her face. At Margret's hand, grabbing his at the wrist and halting it's progress.

"Come on, friend." Margret gave a smile she didn't feel, her chair abandoned behind her after her lunge forwards. "I get that you're a royal ass, but you don't have to tick _every_ box on the ass checklist. Just makes you boring."

Thonar looked at her for a long moment. Then casually as you please, said, "Your girlfriend's back in town."

"_What?_" The shock made Margret's grip slacken, and Thonar pulled his arm back, rolling out the wrist. "Oh yes, strolled back in through the gates yesterday afternoon. Annoyingly, Madanach's men got her before I could."

_She came back for me?_ Margret...didn't know what to think. "So she's in Cidnah mine?"

"Oh, yes." Thonar turned his back on her. "_My_ mine. Which Madanach is about to be reminded of. Don't you worry, spy, you'll get your chance to see her soon enough."

Margret's fingers clenched on the table. "If you hurt her-" she snarled.

"You can't threaten me with anything, idiot, you're my prisoner. Curb your indignation." He interrupted, boredly. Without so much as a nod to either of them, he left, leaving the door wide open behind him.

"Hmph." Betrid shrugged. "He has got you there."

Margret scowled, sitting back down. "Shut up and pass me that bottle."

* * *

**8˂ **** ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Skyrim was, in L'laarzen's opinion, the second most beautiful country in Mundus. The first of course was Elsweyr, specifically the rainforests of Pelletine; nothing would ever come close to her homeland. Still, she was being spoiled by her location. Having entered Skyrim in the docks at Windhelm, her route to Riften took her up a gently winding path beside the river, with great peaks to either side and trees dotted alongside it. She didn't know if she'd ever get bored of the walk, especially with the hot springs (_hot springs!_) she could take a brief break in on the way down. Of course, pretty as it was, she wouldn't usually take the time to stop and muse about it like this. _How airheaded of me. What if this forces me to make Mercer wait?_

Chuckling to herself, she returned to her walk, ears pricking up at the sound of hooves clopping up the road towards her.

This was the main route between Riften and Windhelm, so there had been quite a few other travellers passing her in both directions. L'laarzen fixed a wide smile on her face and looked to the figure riding up towards her, waiting until she could make out facial features. Sadly, the vast majority of people would see a lone Khajiit on the road and peg her immediately as a thief or crazed addict. Those were usually easy to pick out from their expression alone; the furrowed eyebrows and upturned noses were a dead giveaway. This one...hadn't noticed her, actually. She closed to a hundred paces, fifty, and he still seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his horse was on a collision course with her.

_Perhaps L'laarzen should warn him to be careful. It is not safe to travel this wilderness without one's wits about them._

She opened her mouth to call out a greeting-and blinked, as she finally got close enough to recognise his face. "Mister Alexander!" She called, delighted. "Friend!"

That snapped the young man out of his reverie (in fact, he jerked so hard he almost fell off his horse). He pulled his hood down, winced at the sunlight and squinted at her, before his mouth formed an 'o'.

"Oh!" He said, bringing his horse to a stop before her. "Hi! You're hairdresser lady! Uh, I know your name, hold on, it's got the 'ah' sound in it. Uh...Lars?"

"L'-laar-zen." She corrected, pronouncing it slowly with a good natured smile. "Khajiit shall forgive you. It has been some days since we met, and you were quite drunk at the time. It is good to see you, how have your mage studies been going?"

"Oh, good! I'm working on a thesis at the moment actually-or, well, I was, I'm on something of a mission at the moment." Xander tilted his head. "What about you? How is your...hairdressing...okay when I say it like that it sounds like I'm being condescending-"

"You are fine, friend." L'laarzen laughed. "Have some confidence in yourself. Yes, my work goes well." She glanced behind herself. "Does your 'mission' take you to Riften? I regret that I have missed your stay."

"Uh, sort of." After seemingly thinking for a moment, Xander swung his leg around and (with minimal frantic leg shaking) disentangled himself from his horse, standing in front of her. "Weird question, but you wouldn't happen to know if there are any good mercenaries for hire there?"

"A few, but they are all either corrupt or expensive. Can you not ask Dulurza, your incredibly competent friend from Whiterun?" L'laarzen asked.

"How are you so good with names?" Xander sighed. "No, Dulurza went back to Solitude. I don't even know if this will be dangerous, I just...it's a Dwemer ruin."

L'laarzen's eyes widened. She had never been in one herself, but, "I should imagine _very_ dangerous. Why would you need to access such a horrid place?"

"Well...mage business." He shrugged, looking away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Now that _is_ condescending." L'laarzen told him, crossing her arms and giving him a _look_.

He saw her face and instantly crumbled. "I'm on a quest for a time wizard and I need to find him a staff or the world might end or something I'm really sorry!" He squeaked out, head bowing contritely.

"See? Not so hard." L'laarzen leant back and scratched her chin with one claw. "Hm...very well. Khajiit will accompany you."

Xander looked back up at her in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"You believe it will be dangerous, and I would hate for such a polite customer to get hurt." L'laarzen explained, simply.

"But-but Dwemer automatons! Falmer!" Xander exclaimed.

"Oh, L'laarzen is more than capable of handling herself." She replied, in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "Now, where is this ruin? I believe I saw Dwemer spires some distance back the way we came, is that it?"

"Hold on hold on hold on." Xander held up a hand, looking at her. "Why are you really doing this? You haven't even asked for money."

L'laarzen tittered. "You are an investment! If you become a famous mage, you can spread word of my business far and wide!"

His eyes narrowed. "Now _you're_ the one being condescending." He countered.

_Oh? He noticed? He is paying more attention than he was at the meadery. Or perhaps I am simply being too obvious..._

"Yes, Khajiit is sorry." L'laarzen admitted. "She...Hm. She supposes she is doing this because she thinks it is the right thing to do."

"A moral compass?" Xander cracked a grin. "In the Fourth Era? In _Skyrim_?"

L'laarzen smiled back. "Precisely. The world is in need of such a thing, no?"

"You sure I won't be taking you too far out of your way?"

"Oh, do not worry friend. Khajiit is more than happy to take a detour at the moment."

"That is a mischievous look."

"You must be imagining things. May I share a spot on the horse?"

* * *

**L'laarzen continues to be best cat. I enjoy writing all my characters for various reasons, but she out of all of them is just consistently delightful to do dialogue for. _E__xcept for when I forget to add in the third person bits..._**

**Elisif is clearly not responding to her experiences well, while Margret is handling her imprisonment surprisingly well and Xander gets sent on another fetch quest. Because, you know. It's Skyrim. What would it be without fetch quests?**

**Next Time: Someone has issues with volume, someone has issues with volume of a different sort, and someone finds themselves feeling rather irritable.**


	14. Discussing Violence

**Last Time: Dulurza executed Ahtar, Margret learned more about the Forsworn Conspiracy, and Xander met up with L'laarzen on the way to Mzulft.**

* * *

**Discussing Violence**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****8˂ **

The man coughed, blood dripping from both his mouth and the hole in his stomach, and none of L'laarzen's frantic attempts at healing were able to staunch the flow. "They...took it. The focusing crystal, they...you have to br-bring it to...to..." his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

L'laarzen hung her head low, reaching out a hand to close his eyelids. She muttered something, not in Khajiiti, but in _Dunmeri_. Though Xander recognised the language, he couldn't figure the words out. He backed up a step, and looked awkwardly between the body of the Synod mage, and the door leading deeper into the ruins.

"...Would you be mad if I stripped his robes?"

"_Alex__ander!_"

"What! They're worth _so much_ money!"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"Let me look at it."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm _fine_."

"Dulurza. Let him look at it."

"My Jarl, it's-"

"_Dulurza_."

"...Hmph."

Dulurza grudgingly sat down in a chair in Elisif's room, allowing the priest, Styrr, to start fussing over her. "Looks like a puncture wound." He muttered. "Below your right ribs."

"Aye." Dulurza rolled her eyes. "That'll be because I was punctured below my right ribs. Crazy."

"Naked steel?" He asked.

"Wooden spike. Axe haft." Dulurza decided, for the sake of Elisif's worried expression, that she'd co-operate. "It went in about two inches."

"Hm. Not that hard to heal with some targeted restoration spells, but there might be splinters, and we don't want those getting stuck..." Styrr looked at the area critically. "Armour and tunic off. I'll need to inspect the wound."

"Alright, alright." Dulurza stood up and started unbuckling her armour, giving Elisif a reassuring smile. "It really isn't that big of a deal. I've been stabbed worse in _training_ than this."

"You have?" Elisif looked surprised by the admission, lowering herself into an adjacent chair with visible exhaustion.

"Oh, yeah. And we don't have any fancy healing mages at Mor Khazgur to solve the problem in a few minutes. Look-" Dulurza laid the armour on the floor, then pulled up her tunic's right sleeve, bearing her inner forearm (and the long white line drawn up it) to Elisif. "My sister gave that to me, age twelve. Couldn't swing an axe for two months. Wasn't so bad, just meant I had to learn to fight with the other arm."

"Oh my." Elisif put one hand to her mouth (as though she hadn't witnessed a man being beheaded less than an hour prior, and this was the scariest wound she'd ever seen). Amused by the reaction, Dulurza pulled her tunic entirely over her head, turning to show her bare back. Elisif gasped are the big, ugly scar that traced up from the top of the Orc's breeches almost to her shoulder. "Age 16, also my sister. I thought it would be impressive to spin around in the middle of the fight; she showed me the stupidity of that quick enough. Just stepped in and-" She mimed swinging up a sword, making an appropriate "schwick!" Sound.

Elisif's eyes were wide. "Forgive me for suggesting this," She began, "but does your sister want to kill you?"

"Hah! Only when I get on her nerves." Dulurza sat back down, allowing Styrr (who muttered "showoff..." under his breath) to start poking around at the new hole in her abdomen.

_Oh, okay. That is bleeding quite a lot, actually. And, yep, now I'm thinking about it, that really stings_. "Borgakh is my elder sister." She said to Elisif, mostly to distract herself. "We trained together a lot. This is just what happens when you spar with steel, and I wasn't about to practice with some dummy wooden axe, there'd be no point. But if it makes you feel any better, I've done just as bad to her."

"R-Right. Good." Elisif (who until then had been staring unabashedly at her Thane) blushed, and looked away, which was odd. Dulurza looked down at herself. It wasn't like she was naked or anything, she still had bandages over her chest, what was the problem?

In front of her, Styrr made a gesture with his hand, and a small collection of wooden shards flew out of her wound, prompting another wince. She glared at the priest, but he just looked at her as if daring her to complain about it. _Tch. As if I'd whine about something this minor._

But she did look for something else to distract herself, turning back to Elisif. "So, the traitors are dead or in prison. What do we have to do now?"

"Ugh. What _don't_ we have to do." Elisif pulled her eyes away from Dulurza's abs, leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Try to put an entire hold back together in the aftermath of this disaster. First of all, we'll need a new court wizard."

"Oh, right. Sorry I murdered the last one."

"You're forgiven. But it's still an urgent problem." Elisif frowned. "The job of the court wizard is to be my point of consultation on anything mystical going on. Whenever magic might threaten me or my people, I need to be able to rely on them to provide accurate advice. Talented mages are rare; _reliable_ ones are rarer."

"And they to not be a vampire traitor." Dulurza added, as Styrr began shining a golden glow out of his hands at her wound.

"And that." Elisif cracked a tired smile. "Ordinarily, it's not an immediate problem, at least not in Skyrim. But, well. You've heard about the dragon problem."

Dulurza nodded. "Seen one of their skeletons. Massive things. Do we have any idea why they're suddenly coming back?"

"No, and that's concerning. I don't need to be dealing with a Dragon resurgence _and_ a civil war at the same time." Elisif's scowl deepened. "And that's it's own problem. Politics. If I asked, I'm sure General Tullius would be happy to lend me one of his finest Imperial mages. A mage loyal to _him_. I'm not switching out one spy for another."

"Are there any mages already in court you can use?" Dulurza asked. "In the tribes, the Chief gets first pick of whatever women he wants, the same should apply for wizards."

"Oh, if only I could do the same." Elisif sighed. "I suppose I could commandeer Melaran, though it would leave Erikur without his housecarl. Argh, but Melaran's an Altmer. I don't mean to stereotype, but it's possible he's with the Thalmor."

"They bad too?" Dulurza checked.

"Well we're allies, except that they sacked the capital of the Empire, outlawed the worship of our god, send hit squads into our country kidnapping people and blatantly want to conquer the world." Elisif growled to herself, tapping on her armrest. "The only thing worse than an Inperial spy is a Thalmor one. But both of them are going to be pressuring me with offerings soon and I won't be able to decline them without being rude. So we need someone talented, wise, reliable, not politically affiliated in anyway, and we need them fast." She curled her fingers into a fist and slammed it ineffectually. "By Talos, I need a drink."

Dulurza glanced worriedly down at Styrr, who had paused in his work to give his Jarl a questioning look. "My lady, you can't go saying 'by Talos', it's not-"

"Shut up and fix my Thane, _priest_." Elisif snapped at him.

_Okay, this is not normal_. Dulurza spoke up, "Elisif, are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" The Jarl gave her a dark look.

"Something's been wrong all morning." Dulurza continued, pushing past the oppressive glare, "Are you still on edge from Stentor? If you need to take a day after something like that it's-"

"Stop doubting me!" Elisif spat, exploding up out of her chair. The atmosphere of the room started to intensify, like a pressure building between Dulurza's ears. "Are you not loyal to me?"

Dulurza hesitantly stood, "Well, yes, but-"

"Do you not think I can lead? Do you think me some precious wilting violet who can't stay focused in a crisis?" Elisif was shaking, around the room candles started to flicker out, "I am your _lord_! I am your Jarl, and the rightful ruler Skyrim! **I am the Wolf Queen, and you will obey me!**"

There was a subsonic boom, and a wave of force blasted out from Elisif's body, sending Dulurza and Styrr stumbling backwards and knocking over furniture. For a moment, there was a flash of eerie blue light-

...And then everything returned to normal.

Elisif blinked, shock creeping over her face as she looked down at her hands. "What...what was that? I didn't-I don't know how to-"

Styrr, having tripped over a chair, came back to his feet, clutching the pendant around his neck. "By the nine-_eight_. That was dark magic. That...wasn't you, my lady. It...it was-"

"It was a ghost." Dulurza snarled. "Of course it was a ghost. It's always got to be a Malacath-damned _ghost_."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****8˂ **

Two sets of feet (one incredibly quiet, one far less so), came to a halt as hard stone gave way to a soft bed of earth. Then an arm rapidly flapped about in the air, and the not-very-sneaky footsteps backed up a good twenty paces or so.

L'laarzen's pupils dilated, her eyes quickly adjusting to the low light, looking away from the Dwemer tunnels into a much less well excavated part of the cave. What she saw...was troublesome.

The Falmer were truly hideous things. Hunched backs, pale leathery skin, black chitinous armour likely made from the Chaurus that followed them around at heel. Their teeth were sharp, their noses were slitted, and their eyes were permanently shut, swollen and red. L'laarzen watched as they stalked about, snapping at each other in their guttural, primitive language, before she slowly turned and crept back to Alexander.

"Talk in a low voice, but do not whisper." She instructed, bringing her face closer to his. "It carries further."

"Got it." He nodded, glancing past her. "Sound intensity is proportional to the square of the distance from the source. If they couldn't hear my footsteps before, they won't hear us talking here."

"Fascinating! We make a great team." L'laarzen smiled, before glancing back the way she had come. "There is a village of them ahead, upwards of twenty."

"Any look like spellcasters?" Xander asked. "Staves are an obvious giveaway, but the ones with more ornate headdresses are those who possess more magical skill, and scholars believe they may be religious leaders. They're the ones we want to look out for."

"...One of those, that L'laarzen saw." she recalled. "When did you become an expert on the culture of the Falmer?"

"Last night." Xander coughed. "I do Dragons and Daedra, not Dwarves and...Falmer, which doesn't start with a D, disappointingly. This is just skimreading I did on the way down from Winterhold."

"You read books on a horse?"

"I fell off. Many times."

L'laarzen shook her head in incredulity. _He learns the basics of an entire species in less than a day, and he's embarrassed of how little he knows?_ "Well, Khajiit is impressed by your determination, if nothing else."

"Do you want the rundown on how to deal with them?" Xander asked.

L'laarzen bit her lip. "L'laarzen...you may think her foolish. But she does not believe we _should_ fight them."

He tilted his head. "Hm?"

"These Falmer. Khajiit believes we would be better off finding a way _around_ them instead of cutting a swathe through." She looked back out at the village she had seen.

"Yeah. Okay." Xander nodded.

"It's just...Khajiit does not know as much about them as you, but they do not strike her as so mindless as stories say." L'laarzen thought back to their behaviour. "They live down here in the dark, but they live in communities, build houses. They tame pets, foster gardens where they grow alchemy ingredients. Is that the actions of a monstrous people?"

"No, I'm with you."

"And they have mages! Magic requires intellect, does it not? Spells cannot be performed by mere beasts! Khajiit simply cannot shake the feeling that she is invading on the home of creatures who have done her no harm..."

"Okay. I agree with you."

"Which is why-" L'laarzen paused in her rant. "You...what?"

"I'm with you." Xander repeated. "Absolutely let's not kill them."

L'laarzen felt a warmth blossom in her chest. "You...agree with L'laarzen's pacifism? You understand?"

Xander snorted. "Oh no I couldn't care less about their lives. Their souls are white, not black, so they don't class as a humanoid race and are thus beneath empathy. No I agree we shouldn't kill them because I'm a coward and I want to avoid danger wherever possible."

"...Oh." L'laarzen looked down, feeling a little bit put out.

"...So do you wanna know how to sneak past them?" Xander asked.

"Ah, yes, sorry, of course. Go on?"

"Okay, so, hear me out." Xander rubbed his hands together. "Due to the mushrooms the Falmer feed on, they're completely blind. So are the Chaurus they keep. Which means all they have to go on is sound and smell. Therefore," there was a gleam in his eye, "we need to stop them doing those things!"

"...Yes, that is fairly obvious." L'laarzen watched his face fall with a little petty glee. _That's for shutting down Khajiit's speech_. "The question is how? They are rather good at smelling and hearing."

"That's where the cunning part comes in. Observe." Xander flexed his right hand. L'laarzen watched closely as a ball of purple light grew within his palm, then exploded out with a small whisper of sound. His body was suffused with a dim glow, particularly the soles of his feet, and he grinned, throwing his hands out in a 'tah-daah!' motion.

When L'laarzen raised an eyebrow, he lifted his right foot and stomped it on the floor. No sound emerged. He jumped up and down, gave the world's most ungainly tap dance, and still, no noise came from him.

L'laarzen let out an "aah." of appreciation. "A muffle spell."

He grinned, but she wasn't done; she leaned in to take a closer look at the part that had really impressed her. "What a curious mechanism..." she replayed in her mind what he had done with his right hand. "You can use scrolls and make it look like it was a spell?"

Xander screamed "WHAT?" at the top of his lungs, and if he weren't completely silenced by the spell it would have definitely alerted the entire dungeon to his presence. He looked at her, at his wrist, back at her, and then pointed a finger and started shouting at her rapid fire.

"L'laarzen cannot hear you, friend, and she suspects she is glad of that fact." She giggled, before taking his right hand and feeling his fingers and bracer. "Ah, yes, there it is...your technique is passable, but Khajiit has spent more years than you have been alive working at her sleight of hand. The fancy gestures are all well and good, but the trick is to draw attention _away_ from the problematic area. For example," she lifted up a rolled up parchment and tapped his forehead, "L'laarzen has just taken this from your robes while you were focused on your clever little bracer."

Xander stared at her, mouth hanging open, as she unrolled it and took a look. "Ah, another muffle scroll. Presumably you purchased a selection of these before arriving?"

He nodded, looking rather upset.

"So very prudent of you!" She leaned in. "Is it perhaps an embarrassing weakness at Illusion magic that led you to construct this contraption in the first place?"

He hesitated, then nodded again.

"Do not worry, friend, I shall not tell. Would you like me to give you some hints on improving your technique once we are free of this place?"

Looking thoroughly dejected, Xander nodded once more.

"Excellent! L'laarzen would love to." L'laarzen tousled his hair and turned around, tapping the scroll in her hands as she thought. "As for the smell...well, do not worry. Khajiit's nose is quite formidable as well. She does not want to make us _too_ pungent, that would give us away as well, but with some liberal application of Dwemer oil, dirt, and possibly that horrible blue mushroom, we should be able to come off as a fairly unobtrusive odour to these Falmer."

She looked back at him, flashing a smirk. "L'laarzen may be a hairdresser, but she does dabble in the application of perfume..."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjarnagredda had never really considered herself an altruistic person. But when you see an old man shaking in front of a silver vein, looking like he's about to collapse, you'd have to be a mighty emotionless person not to help them out.

"Hey, you alright?" She asked, walking up behind the man and putting a hand on his shoulder. He practically fell apart in her arms, falling backwards and sucking in shaky breaths.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just...need a moment." She gently sat him down as he tried to recover, and he looked up at her gratefully, but with a hint of annoyance. "Damnit...I'm already behind as it is."

"They set you _quotas_?" Hjar asked, aghast.

"How else can they make sure we keep producing their precious silver?" He laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. "Ugh. I'm to old for this...name's Braig. You're Madanach's granddaughter, aren't you?"

"Aye. Hjar." At least he was a Breton, so didn't question her name. She leaned back against the wall and sighed, trying to quell her rumbling stomach (not due to hunger, mind you. Due to her affliction.) "This place is Oblivion on Mundus. What did you even do to get put in here?"

"What reason do you think? I'm a Reachman who breathed in a direction the Nords didn't like." He smiled, bitterly. "You got out of the city, right? When Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted the gates down?"

"When I was a babe, aye."

"You're lucky then. They weren't content to slay our warriors, when they stole our city from us. They tore a swathe through anyone who had opposed them, anyone who had even associated with their enemies." His eyes looked to the floor, hollowly. "My daughter...she would have been thirty, now. See I knew Madanach, back in the day, and that was more than enough for them to come knocking on my door. My girl went to our great and noble Jarl, and pleaded with him to take her instead, to spare me." His grip on his pickaxe tightened. "They mounted her head on a spike. And then they locked me up here to mine their silver until the day I die."

"Nord Bastards." Hjar spat on the floor.

"Aye. Damn them all..."

It was easy to listen to his story, even easier to agree. It was the sort of tale that she had heard a thousand times growing up, that made the world around her seem so _simple_. The Forsworn were the good ones trying to reclaim their rightful homeland, and the Empire and the Nords were the bad ones, stealing what they didn't deserve and destroying everything they touched.

It was easy to think.

_Too_ easy.

There was a part of her brain that she was constantly using to check for inconsistencies in the world (an intuition that was incredibly useful when it came to making observations). It was currently providing a niggling feeling of _'I'm not saying you're wrong, but isn't this mighty suspicious?'_

Hjar thought about it. Were the Silver-Bloods assholes? Definitely. The evidence was overwhelming.

Were the Forsworn assholes? _Eeeehhh... Oh, wow, that hurts to think. What does that mean?_

"You'd best find a way out of here." Braig advised. "Trust me. The mine breaks you. Wanna know the only reason I'm still here, instead of picking a fight with a guard and ending it? Because Madanach promises us a chance at revenge."

"Revenge against who?" Hjar gave him a chance to clarify.

He just grinned up at her. "Everyone."

_Red flags Hjar. Red. Flags._

Then again, the only reason she was here was to save Margret. Her plan (though it was a bit of a joke to call it something so well thought out) had been to enter the prison, grab Margret, and violence her way out, with the wolf if necessary. She hadn't expected the Forsworn to accept her for more than an hour before realising that she'd murdered practically all their compatriots upstairs. She'd been resigned to more allied blood on her hands. At least that way, she wouldn't have actually had the issue of thinking about who was right...

_Hircine, why does this all have to be so complicated!?_

She could almost feel his ring laughing at her.

"Hey, you! Old man!"

Hjar and Braig both turned, seeing that one Orc woman walk in flanked by two other mercenaries. What was her name? Probably Urag Gro something or other. All of them were Bleh-Bleh Gro Blah-Blah of some sort. _'Cept Dulurza, wonder how she's doing..._

"Something wrong, warden?" Braig looked up at her as she approached, not even remotely concerned.

"Not at all. In fact, you seem to be doing great." She leered at him. "It's always important to relax at work, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm glad you agree." He gave her a smile.

She gave him a kick to the ribs.

He curled up and swore, glaring at her, before standing again. "By the Daedra, woman, lay off! You'll have your silver."

"Will I?" The warden crossed her arms and glared down at him. "You're so confident. I'm less so, given you missed your quota last month, and the month before. If this keeps up, we might have to start recouping costs by taking it out of your food!"

Hjar (leaned against the wall watching) mustered the will to groan and push herself up and into the centre of the tunnel, blocking the warden's path. "Listen, sweetcheeks." She said, arms also crossed. "This man is something like eighty. Maybe give him a bit of a break?"

"I'm...fifty two." The man spoke up from behind her.

Hjar blinked, looking back at him. "Oh, wow. Even worse. You look like that _already?_"

"Oh, so you're a smart one?" The warden pushed up into Hjar's face. "Listen up, meat. First rule of this prison? Nobody sasses me."

"I sassed a god a week or so ago." Hjar answered truthfully, indignation building. "Two of them, in fact, so you're completely unimportant in context. Also, shouldn't rule one be 'mine the silver'? This place doesn't seem very well run."

The Orc dropped a hand to the sword at her hip, and the two mercs behind her did the same. "Oh really? Would you like to apologise for that or are you genuinely looking for a fight this early in?"

Inside Hjar, the wolf growled. It might have been the cursed ring, but she didn't really feel much need to keep it under wraps. "You know what? Sure. Seriously, I do not care enough to restrain myself. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

The warden bared her teeth.

Hjar raised an eyebrow, preparing herself to tear a furry path of devastation right up into Thonar's house.

A second passed, then another. The Orc's eyes flicked away from Hjar's own, to somewhere behind her head. Then somewhere else Hjar couldn't see, then somewhere else, then down as though she was thinking. In her peripheral vision, Hjar saw another two prisoners sidling up behind the mercenaries, pickaxes in hands, and made an educated guess that others were doing the same behind her back.

_Aw, does someone not have as much control over her prison as she thought?_

Eventually, the warden relaxed herself, taking a step backwards. "No. Just this once, I'll have to forgive your sass. Not of my own choice, mind." She grinned. "I'm not down here to kick at useless old men, as fun as it is. I'm here for _you_."

Hjar narrowed her eyes, as the Orc continued. "Thonar Silver-Blood would like to have a word with you, so I'm here to escort you topside. Of course, if you refuse I absolutely will have to break your legs and drag you there. Any objections?"

Hjar continued to glare for another few seconds, before taking a calming breath and forcing her arms to her sides. The wolf howled in protest, and she tried to ignore it as she gave the warden an empty smile. "Sure. I could use the fresh air."

* * *

**8˂ ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

_Well call the bloody emperor, I've only gone and ruined another perfectly functional set of mage robes._ Xander thought, bitterly. He had no idea what was in Dwarven oil, but it seemed to be actively dissolving his apparel as time went on. _In other breaking news, water is wet. Skyrim is cold. The Stormcloaks are stupid. The Imperials are bit-_

Ahead of him, L'laarzen held up five fingers, and he crept more rapidly after her. They found their way into a location out of immediate 'sight' of any Falmer while her fingers slowly counted down, three, two, one...then the purple glow flashed and vanished, leaving their footsteps at normal volume again.

"Feim Zii Gron, Feim Zii Gron, Feim Zii Gron..." the muttered mantra he'd been keeping up throughout the duration of their last foray became audible again, and L'laarzen sent him a questioning glance. "What language is that?"

"Dovahzuul." Xander admitted. "I'm trying to Shout. Am I turning ethereal? I would really like to be turning ethereal right now."

L'laarzen shook her head with an indulgent look. "No, and please do not shout, given how far we have come."

"No I don't mean _shout_, I mean-ngh. Whatever." Xander tried to peak round the corner, but L'laarzen gently pushed him back, and looked herself.

"How we doing?" He asked, moving close behind her and trying to look anyway.

"Not good." She tutted. "You said you can't read Dwemer?"

"I'm learning the second I get back." Xander muttered, darkly. "But no."

"Then shall L'laarzen assume that the massive golden door at the end of the massive room is this Oculory we are looking for?"

"Sounds pretty good to me, yeah."

"Well, there are a massive amount of Falmer between us and it."

"Oh, wonderful." Xander checked his supplies. "I have two muffle scrolls left."

"And we don't have the focusing device mentioned in that poor Imperial's journal. And, for all we know, the door may require a key." L'laarzen looked back at him and grinned wide. "Two unknowns, one objective, thirty Falmer in our way and one ninety second window!"

"Are you...enjoying this?" Xander asked, slightly concerned.

"N-No." L'laarzen looked away, coughing awkwardly. "Th-that would be highly irresponsible."

"Right..." Xander gave her a sideways look, but let it drop. "So what's our plan?"

L'laarzen hummed, then leaned back out to check the area again. "The area's maybe fifty paces by fifty paces, there's a tunnel on the opposite side to the door...this will be tight. Friend, Khajiit will use her scroll and move out, start checking the Falmer and their homes for the crystal or the key. This will take her away from the door. Twenty seconds after she leaves, you use your scroll and move towards it. Pick up a rock, either now or on the way. If the door opens without a key, go inside. If it does not, throw the rock up at the roof and hide behind the nearest hut to the door. Hopefully they will think it is a natural sound. If L'laarzen does not hear the rock within fifty seconds, she will assume you are safe and that she only needs the Crystal. If She hears the rock and gets both on time, we will both enter. If she runs out of time, or is caught..." She furrowed her brows, thinking about it, then smiled slyly and looked down at practical shirt and slacks she had changed into shortly after their entrance to the dungeon. "Dwemer oil is very flammable, is it not? L'laarzen will shed her clothes and set them alight. That should be enough of a distraction to sneak back to you. If the door is open, she will join you, and if not, we will both retreat out of the room and reevaluate."

"Oh, perfect. A naked Khajiit." Xander shuddered. "Sure, I saw a naked werewolf a week ago, why not this?"

"You saw a-Nevermind." L'laarzen put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you understand the plan?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it back to L'laarzen."

Somewhat shakily, he did so, and she nodded once more, turning back to the room. "Good. Sync your counting, Khajiit leaves at zero. Five, four, three, two, one,"

There was a flicker of purple light, and she was gone.

"One, two, why are my companions always so _cool_? Five, six..." Xander kept counting, blowing out a breath and gripping his scroll tightly in his hands.

_I only asked to achieve godhood, I never wanted any of this dangerous nonsense-_

His count hit twenty, and he started creeping.

He could have ran and the scroll would have kept him muffled, but something about the dozens of ex-Elven monstrosities casually scuttering around him made him a little paranoid. He'd used an invisibility scroll once, back in the Synod, and this felt a lot like that: Every part of his brain screeching at him that he was being seen, yet completely ignored, by everyone around him.

_Feim Feim Feim Feim-Okay, door, door is good. Moving towards door. Stairs, we know how stairs work, right? Up the stairs, uh, wait a minute. What number were we on? How long have I been going for? Oh, okay, no, don't panic, L'laarzen gave us plenty of time, just get up to the door and STAFF-_

Xander froze, stumbling slightly, as a Falmer passed between him and the door. It had a staff on its back. A _really cool_ looking staff. It was like, made out of Chaurus bits or something, _what? That's so cool, how does it work?_

He took a step towards the Falmer, then grimaced, looking back to the door. _I'm in a hurry though...and what am I gonna do, take it right off it's back? It'll notice!_

He glanced back. _But maybe if I just..._

He took another step towards it. Stretched out his hand.

...Then closed his fist, shook his head, and started walking back to the door. _Don't be stupid, Xander, people are at risk. Worry about your staff fetish next mission._

He reached up to the door, laid a hand on it's cool metal surface, and pushed. It didn't budge. He pushed again, harder, leaning his weight into it. This time it clattered, echoing, and a few of the Falmer down below turned their heads, but still didn't open.

Unwilling to leave it there (though aware of the attention he was drawing), he looked for bits on the engraving that seemed grippable and gave the doors a hard tug. They clattered again, and he caught a glimpse of bars between the metal on the other side. _Locked. Alright, fine, rock time._

He backed away, and just in time too. The Falmer with the staff bounded up to the door with a hissing snarl, ignoring the still inaudible Xander to pound at the door with its fist. That only caused the other Falmer in the room to start screeching along with it.

_Well, at least they won't be able to hear me over this racket._ Xander looked for the closest hut to the door, and started moving to hide behind it.

That was when he heard the voice.

"Ugh, again?" Echoed the words of a young woman from behind the door, making Xander stop dead in his tracks. "For the love of Julianos, when will you filth learn! It's locked! L-O-C-K-E-D! Leave the damn thing alone!"

Xander stared wide eyed at the door. His Muffle spell ended, and he didn't even notice. _No..._

"Cassia?" He muttered, breathlessly.

The Falmer with the staff turned it's head towards him. It didn't even have a chance to raise it's arm before Xander ran it through with his sword.

* * *

L'laarzen heard a boom, and knew the plan was finished. _Well done, Xander, that lasted almost two minutes. This Thieves Guild bad luck may have some merit..._

The Falmer she had been stalking turned towards the noise, and she lunged forwards, grabbing for it's belt where an ornate blue crystal ringed in Dwemer gold hung. She snatched it, then brought her foot up and booted the Falmer across the floor. It screeched and she turned, sprinting in the opposite direction, back up the tunnel into the central room.

What she saw was...

_What? What in Azurah's name is he doing?_

"STAY AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARDS!" Alexander charged a Falmer and buried his sword in it's gut, leaving the blade there and swinging away from a retaliatory swipe with an axe before blasting it with the staff he was using, a hideous black thing that launched a foot long ice spike into its face.

With his other hand, he pulled a second staff from his back, turning on the rest of the approaching horde and firing blasts of lightning and ice at them with a scream of challenge.

That was about when L'laarzen tackled him about the midriff. The pair of them flew off the raised dais before the door, landing with a thud on the hard stone beside it. L'laarzen recovered quickly, disentangling herself from Xander, grabbing his shoulders and dragging him behind the hut he should have been hiding in.

"GET OFF ME!" He yelled, completely invalidating any confusion her maneuvre might have generated and continuing to fire at the Falmer.

"_Have you lost your senses?_" She yelled back at him. The Falmer charged them, approaching from all directions, and she lit up a novice flame spell in her hand, pouring out a line of it in their path in the hopes of dissuading them. "What happened to avoiding killing?"

Xander looked to be in the middle of a full fledged panic attack, his limbs were shaking and his eyes wide.

"I gotta, I can't let them-" he took a desperate breath, "_My sister is in there!_"

L'laarzen froze.

Behind them, one of the Falmer let out a blast of ice that put out the remnants of L'laarzen's barricade, and the rest of them charged.

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and then shoved Xander against the hut. "Stay here, stay quiet, do not come out until all is silent!" She commanded.

Standing, she unclenched her fists. Claws extended from her paws.

Then she spun, and attacked.

* * *

**You know what's fun? Ulfric was selected as a child to train with the greybeards, did so for years, then (presumably as a young man) left to join the war against the Thalmor. Then he does so until 4E 176, after which he leaves and does the Markarth incident taking the city. So first of all, if Ulfric was 20 (and he was probably way older) at the end of the war, he's at least 45, and he doesn't look or fight like it. Second of all, Braig's daughter was stated to be (if alive) 23 in 4E 201. Meaning that depending on your source for the Markarth Incident, she was either 3 years old or _-2 years old _when she tried to convince the Jarl to spare her father. I know there's a lot of NPCs in this game but come on, Todd, I'm trying to write fanfiction here.**

**Anyway, PLOT! Shoutout to the reviewer who called Elisif being haunted ahead of time. In case Dulurza's mission wasn't complicated enough...**

**And I _finally _get to start introducing the Meteuse family! I told you in something like chapter four that Alexander had three siblings. You're _getting_ three siblings. More from Cassia next chapter. **

**Meanwhile, L'laarzen's philosophy clashes with necessity. Take your seats, boisengirls, and enjoy the show, but be wary. First few rows are a splash zone~**

**...yes that was a SAOAbridged reference.**

**Next Time: Someone reunites with family, someone meets a kindred spirit, and someone starts panicking quite a lot.**


	15. Sister

**Last Time: Xander and L'Laarzen fought Falmer in Mzulft, Dulurza discovered Elisif was haunted, and Hjar was summoned to Thonar's home.**

* * *

**Sister**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****8˂**

"H-Hello?" The voice called from the other side of the door, as Xander frantically tried to fit the key into the lock. "What happened out there? Are...are there people out there? Because I just heard a lot of growling and screeching and now that's all stopped...and you're messing with my door..."

"Be more gentle with it." L'laarzen advised, quietly. "Don't just jam it in there and wiggle it about, you need to be-"

"I'm being gentle, it's not working!" Xander hissed back.

"Have you tried turning it the other way?"

"_Yes_ I've tried- Uh. Hold on-"

"Were those voices? Those were voices right?" The voice from the other side continued, "Because if you are people then you should probably know that I am both very armed and very scary. I have so many arms. Arms for days. Four of them! And they're all big and muscly, and also I'm nine feet tall and-"

There was a click.

Xander turned the key, grabbed handle looking objects, and then yanked the doors open with a screech of metal on stone.

He looked up-

And ducked beneath the fireball that immediately went flying over his head.

It exploded impressively against the far wall.

"_Faaz Nah_, Cassia, stop it with the hair-trigger fire magic!" Xander shouted, standing to his full height and glaring. "I thought you'd learned after the time I took the blame for the Synod's kitchen catching fi-"

His brain caught up with his mouth, and his eyes widened.

Stood in front of him was a girl he hadn't seen in long months. A spry little thing of nineteen years, her dark hair (matching Xander's own) was pulled up into a practical bun. There were grease marks on both her cheeks, and the sleeves on her mage robes were rolled up to past the elbow. Her features were angular and fair, slightly too fair to be completely Man, and her inquisitive eyes widened the moment she saw his face.

"Alexander?" She gasped.

"Cassia!" He shouted, sprinting forwards.

They crashed into each other, arms wrapping each other up, and Xander squeezed her like she might turn ethereal if he let her go.

To the side, L'laarzen was squealing. "This is the most adorable thing Khajiit has ever seen!"

"By the Aetherius Cassia thank the Nine you're safe the moment I heard your voice I was so worried I-"

Xander released her and paused for breath. Then he grabbed her shoulders. "_What in Oblivion are you doing down here?_"

"I'm looking for the staff of an elder god!" Cassia retorted, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for the staff of an elder god!" Xander shot back, "And I'm sorry, _what?_ You're supposed to be studying in Cyrodiil!"

She looked affronted. "I am! This is my bridge project!"

"_Bridge project?_" Xander wrinkled his nose up.

"Yeah! We have to do those in between teaching years." She tilted her head. "You did them too, right?"

He had, but his first had been on the system of magical record-keeping in the capital (which he'd had to abort after uncovering that the Thalmor were stealing priceless books and covering it up in the bureaucracy) and his second had been on the prophesy of the Dragonborn (which he had been given an F for due to the negative implications it had for the Aldmeri Dominion). He'd been kicked out before the end of year three. Still...

"You're allowed to leave the _country_ for those?"

"Sure, if you get grant funding." Cassia shrugged. "My GPA was 97% this year so they pretty much let me do whatever I wanted."

"Oh wow you averaged 97%? That's amazing!"

Cassia nodded, giving him a _look_. "Yeah, it's better than getting perfect hundreds on half your exams and then failing the rest because of 'incidents'."

"Ehehe..." Xander looked away.

"I'm keeping ahead of Julius' 94, but I just can't catch up to Octavia's 99. Course big J never revised for the written exams; I don't want to take 'second best in the school's history' when I have no idea what he'd've gotten if he'd really-" Cassia narrowed her eyes. "Hold on. You're distracting me."

Xander gulped. "Uh-"

"Where in the name of _JULIANOS' LEFT TESTICLE_ DID YOU _GO!_" She screeched.

"I-"

"You RAN AWAY!" Cassia pointed a finger at his face, screaming in a register that had L'laarzen's ears twitching.

"I left a note!"

"A _note!_ You vanished from the manor in the middle of the night and you left a _NOTE?_"

Xander winced. "It was a long note!"

"It was a _tiny_ note! With even tinier writing! We had to get Octavia in cos she's the only one who can read your chickenscratch, and even then she had to use a magnifying glass for most of it! And you wrote the last third in _dragonese!_"

"_Dovahzuul!_ It was hard to explain what I meant in Tamrielic prose-"

"And you're _distracting me again!_" She shoved him in the chest. It didn't do much. "Brother, _please_." Her voice broke a little, and he looked up to see tears forming in her eyes. "You...you left us. You didn't even say goodbye to me."

_...Faaz. I knew it would come to this if I didn't send them a letter. But I still put it off, and put it off, and..._ Xander hung his head. "I...I'm sorry. I just had to...I couldn't _be there_ anymore. It was just too...I'm sorry."

Cassia looked at him for a few seconds, then sighed. "It's fine. I'm just...I'm glad to see you're okay."

"Yeah. You too."

He took a step forward, so did she, and they shared another hug. This one slower, calmer, as they both took the time to catch their breaths.

"So." Cassia said eventually, breaking it and looking past him. "Who's the cat?"

"_Cassia!_" He rebuked, sharply, before backing up and gesturing between the two of them. "The _Khajiit_ is my very good friend L'laarzen, the best stylist in all of Mundus. L'laarzen, this is my younger sister Cassia. Biggest pain in the rear end in all of Mundus."

"Hey!"

Xander rolled his eyes, a small smile forming. "As well as a diagnosed pyromaniac and the most brilliant practitioner of aggressive restoration magic you'll ever meet."

L'laarzen rushed up with a wide smile, taking Cassia's hand and shaking it. "It is an absolute pleasure to meet you! You must let Khajiit do something with your hair sometime, it is such a mess but the aesthetic you are presenting is lovely!"

"Oh, um, sure." Cassia looked caught off guard. "Are you a mage too?"

"L'laarzen dabbles." she giggled. "But she is mostly here to assist your elder brother on his current quest."

Cassia gave Xander a look. "You hired a travelling companion to keep your hair looking good? Julianos, that is so like you."

Xander's gaze flicked past the outside of the brass doors for just a moment. "Sure. Something like that. Uh, do you have any classmates you want to introduce us to?"

"Oh, no, everyone else is dead." Cassia smiled. "Come on in, I'll show you what I've been working on!"

* * *

It took a few minutes for Cassia to explain what she had discovered about the Oculory, as she brought them up into the massive central room dominated by...Xander didn't know how to describe it. A big metal ball thing. _Bloody Dwemer, nothing ever makes sense about them..._

Regardless, his sister certainly seemed to know her way around it. She was as rough 'n' tumble as ever, snatching the focusing crystal from them without so much as a thank you and clambering up the metal struts to affix it to the big central focusy-thingy. That was about when Xander zoned out of her scientific rambling, and realised that L'laarzen was missing.

"Crap, the focusing crystal has gone out of sync." Cassia tutted. "And after we waited so long to get the thing transported here. This is gonna take _months_ to rebuild..."

"Just flash-cool it with a frostbite spell." Xander replied, unthinking, as he looked around the room for his companion.

"Isn't that super dangerous?" Cassia thought about it. "Nah, screw it, you're right. Hey do you wanna do it? You're the expert here on crystals, I still can't understand your second year report on soul gems."

"Uh..." Xander started walking back towards the ramp. "Actually, would you mind doing it? I gotta...do a thing..."

She snorted. "Why not? Don't tell me you can't even cast frostbite?"

"Are you saying you _don't_ want to reactivate the centuries old Dwemer artefact?" He countered.

"Hey, don't put words in my mouth!" She turned back to the machine, and he kept walking.

Eventually, he found L'laarzen about where he'd expected her. She was stood in the doorway to the Oculory room, looking out at the large room where they'd had their...altercation. He walked until they were stood shoulder to shoulder, and stopped there, looking out alongside her.

"So..." he began, awkwardly. "When were you planning on telling me that you're actually a badass?"

The scene laid out before them was one of devastation. Falmer corpses littered the Dwarven floors, blood flowing freely across the stone and down deeper into the complex. Some of the bodies were impaled with their own weapons, others bore marks of targeted spellfire, but by far most of them bore the exact same wound. A quadruple-line slash across the throat, all perfectly parallel, as though some strange fork had been swept across the gullet at the speed of lightning. Dozens of murderous creatures reduced to dinner for the Chaurus. And from what Xander remembered (having spent the entire period hiding behind a hut waiting for the screaming to stop), it had taken two minutes, tops.

He glanced down at L'laarzen's hands. She held a dirty cloth between them, and was working it very thoroughly between her claws. There was an awful lot of stain coming off on the fabric.

"L'laarzen is not a badass." She said, in a quiet, shaky voice. "L'laarzen is a _hairdresser_."

"...Right." He replied, succinctly. He looked her over, and noticed that she was visibly shaking, patches of fur stood on end.

_Say something, damnit! _He coughed. "The, uh. The reading I did on the way in mentions that when the Snow Elves were originally enslaved by the Dwemer, they were fed a certain toxic mushroom that grows deep in the underground caves. Based on studies done by House Telvani (because of _course_ it was house Telvani), this mushroom not only permanently damages the eyesight of those that consume it, but also the brain. It makes people and animals stupid, impulsive, and violent. It particularly damages their capacity to form social bonds, though when this was done on skeevers, it was noted that they would still act as members of groups for their own gain. Sentient subjects were driven to madness within a few months of regular doses."

L'laarzen didn't look up. Xander continued, "These Falmer...they live on those mushrooms. Have done for millennia. They were fed it through the womb of a mother who had also fed on it, and then fed on it throughout their lives. They became..._less_ than people. Whatever it is that makes the races of Nirn truly alive, it...they've lost it. I meant it when I said that their souls are white, not black." He turned to face her fully. "They're monsters, L'laarzen. Not people. No more sentient than trolls or mammoths, they don't...they don't count."

"Monsters." A lip quirked upwards. "Strange. Yet they bled the same as Men and Mer."

_And oh, did they bleed_. Xander quashed the rising bile in his throat, and reached out, putting a hand on L'laarzen's shoulder. She flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Listen to me." He told her. "You saved my life today. You saved my sister's life. You did a good thing."

L'laarzen took in a deep breath. Then let it out, folding up her cloth neatly and storing it in a breast pocket. Her claws retracted. She looked back at him and gave him a weak smile. "You are too kind to L'laarzen, friend. Much too kind."

She pat him on the shoulder and turned. "Khajiit is not upset because of what she did, Alexander. Khajiit is upset because she enjoyed it so much."

With that, she walked back into the Oculory.

Xander waited a moment, then closed the two doors on the carnage, and followed her.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

The Blue Palace, to all outside observations, was in a brief repose of lethargy. Following the chaos of the attempted coup, the court were taking a collective breath, putting aside petty disagreements for once and keeping their discussions to lighter matters. Voices were calm, tempers were low.

Except in Elisif's quarters, where everyone was losing their minds.

"Get her out of me get her out of me _get her out of me!_" Elisif shrieked, standing in the middle of her room with her arms stretched out to either side like she had slime on her dress or something.

Styrr, who had been shining golden light from his hands at her for the last minute, stepped back with an extremely awkward look on his face. "I..._can't_, my lady."

"What?" Dulurza looked outraged, stood to one side. "You're the priest of the temple of the capital of Skyrim and you can't get rid of a ghost? What's even the point of having you?"

"My Jarl, I've struck you with every spell to turn undead in my arsenal." Styrr fidgeted. "Whatever is inside you has resisted _all_ of that. It is clearly a very powerful spirit, and there's not much else I can do to stop it save...well. Setting you on fire."

"Do not set the Jarl on fire." Dulurza pinched her nose.

"No, yes, what the Thane said. Do not set the Jarl on fire!" Elisif insisted. The laughing in her head, which she had only just started to notice, intensified.

Bolgier Bearclaw, who had come in to see what the ruckus was (and promptly slammed and locked the doors behind him) was pacing back and forth, muttering hysterically "Queen's haunted. Queen's haunted. Jarl of Solitude, rightful High Queen of Skyrim. Haunted. On my watch."

"Where did it come from?" Elisif demanded, focusing on Styrr. "Who is it? What's it doing here?"

Dulurza snorted. "As if it isn't obvious. It's the ghost the vampire tried to put in you. The potato lady."

"_Potema_." Elisif corrected, flinching.

"Whatever. Who was she again?"

"What, Potema Septim?" Styrr chuckled nervously. "Oh, nobody. Just self proclaimed empress of Tamriel, member of the Septim dynasty, the woman responsible for the War of the Red Diamond, necromancer and conjurer, one of the most unabashedly evil people in all of history."

Elisif cringed as a new spike of pain drove through her head. "Ow, okay, can we please _not_ insult her while around me?"

"She's hurting you?" Dulurza was at her side in an instant. "That's it. I'm killing her. How do I kill her?"

"I could try performing rites in the temple of the Divines, but Potema was the one who had that temple built!" Styrr was pacing too now. "The skull she possessed after being summoned by those necromancers? It was stored _under_ that temple! It might just make things worse!"

"How are we going to spin this?" Bolgier groaned. "The Jarl of Solitude is possessed by a ghost. If this gets out it'll leak to the Stormcloaks and Ulfric will have a field day, his only rival completely discredited!"

"Actually." Styrr pointed out. "If you think about it, Potema's claim for the throne is stronger than our current emperor's is."

"That really doesn't help, old man!"

Elisif clenched her fists. "Can everyone just **be quiet!**" She shouted, and her voice echoed off the walls of the room with another flicker of darkness. "Of course it's going to leak to the court if you go _raving_ about it at the **tops of your voices!**"

She paused, realised everyone was staring at her, and took a deep breath. "Is that going to keep happening?" She squeaked to Styrr.

He shrugged. "My Jarl, I've never seen anything like this before."

"Then let's think this through logically." Elisif said, forcing herself to sit down. "We don't know enough to make an informed decision, so we need to know more. Who would know more about this?"

"Sybille? She was trying to do it to you in the first place, right?" Bolgier offered.

Elisif nodded. "Most likely. Go search her room, turn the place inside out. If there's anything in there that seems related, find it."

"Yes Ma'am!" Bolgier bowed and turned to unlock the door, letting himself out.

"Any other suggestions?" Elisif asked.

"I could pen messages to my colleagues, keeping it in the abstract." Styrr offered. "But I doubt any of them are more experienced than I. Certainly, none of us are experienced as Potema."

"Wonderful." Elisif tutted. "Another reason we need a court mage..."

"A mage..." Dulurza, after standing thinking for a decent while, looked up with bright eyes. "A _mage_. What about the College of Winterhold?"

"Skyrim's only magical college..." Elisif thought about it. "That's an idea. You've heard of them?"

"I worked with one some weeks back." Dulurza nodded. "Clever man. Honourable, if on the small side."

"You think he could help?" Elisif asked.

An expression passed Dulurza's face almost too fast for her to catch it, something that might have been horror. "Malacath, no, I wouldn't let him within ten feet of you." The Orc shuddered. "Not for fear of malice, just that he might trip over and set you on fire. But he still owes me a favour, and there will be more than just him in Winterhold, surely."

"Winterhold is a Stormcloak allied city." Styrr pointed out.

"But the College remains neutral." Elisif retorted. The more she thought about it, the more merit the idea held. "They're academics, but I've heard they accept gold for magical services, enchanting and such. As a matter of fact, if we're looking for a new Court Mage, we're probably best looking there. Independent, talented, and the teachers should be more than experienced enough."

"If this is all true, why weren't they our first thought for a replacement?" Dulurza asked.

"Because some eighty years ago the majority of Winterhold collapsed into the ocean and we think it's the College's fault. Still, desperate times..." Elisif stood. "I'll write a letter to the Archmage. If I recall correctly, he sent a missive to Torryg as High King when he first achieved his position, I'll see if I can ferret it out. Ah, but all the mail I send is intercepted, and I can't have news of this getting out..."

"Intercepted?" Dulurza looked outraged. "What, the Elves read your letters too?"

"Dulurza, the Thalmor usually get Imperial military information before it filters through to Castle Dour. Of _course_ they read my letters." Elisif sighed. "I'm going to need a courier. A reliable one, who I can trust with important information and a large sum of money without..." She paused, and looked up at her Thane.

Dulurza realised what she was thinking quickly, her eyes widened and her teeth gnashed together. "Of course you can trust me to do it," She said, "but I'm not comfortable leaving you undefended."

"You already stopped Stentor, and you can't fight against...this." Elisif pointed out, gesturing vaguely to herself. "I'm safe here."

"You might be in more danger than you think..." Dulurza muttered, eyes downcast.

Elisif walked towards her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I have Bolgier, an entire castle of guards, and the Imperial army to protect me." She said, looking her Thane in the eyes. "What I _don't_ have is someone who I can trust to cross a war torn country and wrangle some assistance out of infamously antisocial wizards. That is, unless I have you. Do I?"

Dulurza looked at her for a while, then nodded. "Alright. I'll pack my things."

"Thank you." Elisif smiled, and then realised exactly how close she was and stepped back with a small cough. "And please, make sure you're actually wearing something sensible when you leave my room?"

"What? Why-oh, okay." Dulurza looked down, and seemed to finally realise that she hadn't been wearing a tunic for the entire conversation.

**Oh, I like her. When all this is over, I'm definitely keeping her.**

Elisif stepped back, blushing and shaking her head-

Before realising it hadn't been _her_ who had just thought that.

"Uh, Styrr?" She asked. "What do I do if the ghost starts talking to me?"

The priest gulped. "I would start writing that letter faster, my Jarl."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****8˂**

"It works! It works! It-Oh, _come on_, what in Oblivion is this?"

Cassia groaned, and made a very rude gesture at the image that appeared on the wall.

Xander crossed his arms, looking at it critically. "It's...a map." He said. "A map of northern Tamriel. Cassia, if you give me five septims I can get you one of those with _cities _on it."

"Shut up!"

"Give me a lesser soul gem and I can make it glow, too."

"It's not just a map, moron!" Cassia stomped up to it, bringing her fingers up to her chin. "This is supposed to be showing me all of the magical signatures across Tamriel!"

"Magical signatures?" L'laarzen piped up from the sidelines.

"Just a buzzword, doesn't mean anything." Xander whispered across, before calling "What's it tracking? Magicka degeneracy? Because you know that wouldn't account for the-"

"Yeah I _know_, brother, I sorted it. I've spent my whole first year focusing on this area." She huffed. "I wanted it to show me all the powerful magical artefacts across the continent."

"That's what you've been doing?" Xander tilted his head. "Just looking for cool magical trinkets?"

"Uh, yeah? Duh?" Cassia turned back to him, spreading her arms wide. "Think of what I could find! Daedric artefacts, historic soul gems, enchanted cities of centuries past, more Dwarven artefacts like this! No more having to go trawling through old legends to find them one at a time, I could have one big map that shows me where they all are and peruse at my leisure!"

Xander frowned, recalling his conversation with the Augur. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Sure, you'd become famous, but that would only be because of all those old mages' achievements. You probably couldn't even understand everything you found in one lifetime."

"Well at least it would be all there." Cassia seemed confused by his reluctance. "What, you're telling me you wouldn't go find Azura's Star if you knew where it was?"

Xander coughed, hand straying down to his satchel.

L'laarzen spoke up, "There would be great danger in it. If you became known as the owner of so many powerful items, there would be a target on your back. Many rich and influential people would pay to have you robbed or killed."

"Yeah, and what if you did find Mannimarco's staff of instant death?" Xander piped in. "All you've done is bring a dangerous murder-stick back into the public eye. Nothing good can come of it."

Cassia looked between them, defensively responding "Well, I'm not afraid of stuff like that! And hold on, you're looking for the staff of Magnus too!"

"Yeah, for a _reason!_" Xander protested, weakly.

"Oh, whatever." She turned back to the map, pointing up to the top-middle of Skyrim. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. See those two big dots? They're completely over-saturating the entire picture. Even down to the south of Cyrodiil, nothing is bright enough to show up. It's like how you can't see the stars during day because of the sun."

_And which Magne-Ge created the sun again? _Xander had a very worrying thought. "Are you telling me that those are the two most powerful artefacts in all of Tamriel?"

"By far." Cassia agreed. "And it's weird that they've got the exact same brightness, five septims says they're linked together somehow."

"Oh. Good." _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-_

"Wait a minute...that top one's in Winterhold!" Cassia turned back to him. "Those obstinate northern hicks! They _were_ hiding something from us!"

"Now now, be fair." Xander replied, looking at the second dot. _That's gotta be Labyrinthian. Oh, of course, where else would it be except Shalidor's funhouse..._ "Us hicks only got the Eye of Magnus just recently, there was nothing there when you asked."

"What do you mean you-" Cassia blinked. "You're with the College? Wait, Eye of Magnus?"

"Yep and yep." Xander leaned back and stretched. "Right, that's me done, thanks for your help. L'laarzen, you coming? I'm checking for loot."

He began walking away. L'laarzen gave Cassia a cheery wave and followed, and it was only another second or so before the girl went storming after them.

"Hold on, hold on hold on. Xander, you joined the College of Winterhold?"

"Uh-Huh." He continued, continuing into a back chamber. "There's bound to be a chest back here, there's always a chest..."

"Why would you leave the Synod to join the College of Winterhold?" Cassia (when he glanced back at her) looked genuinely baffled. "That's like leaving the Penitus Oculatus so you can become an Imperial footsoldier!"

"Oh yeah? Well this footsoldier has the Eye of Magnus, and that pretty much trumps everything. Oh, here we go, loot!"

"_Tch!_"

L'laarzen giggled from behind, and spoke up "He's embarrassed about something, so he's trying to distract you! He's doing it very well, in fact!"

Xander scowled, as he came up to a locked gate in the way of a large, impressive looking chest. "_Thanks_, L'laarzen. Really." He gave the gate an experimental tug, then (sick to death of keys) brought his sword up and started using it as a crowbar. "I suppose I went to the College because they didn't know me. I needed to get out from under all your feet."

"Why?" Cassia called over his shoulder. "It's great at the Synod. They love us there."

"Exactly." He grunted in exhaustion, trying to pry the gate open. "If I'd wanted to use my 'bridge project' to go touring Elsweyr's rainforests I could've -_ngh_\- asked, and they'd have fallen over themselves to do it. _Gngh_." He blew out a breath. "You didn't get funded to visit Skyrim because of your GPA, Cass. You got it because you were a Meteuse."

Cassia looked at her feet, eyebrows furrowed. "That's not-Are you saying I wasn't-"

"No, you're doing amazingly because you're amazing, and I'm incredibly proud of you. But-" the gate clattered, but wasn't budging, "they'd already made their minds up about you before you walked in the door. Julius was the only one who got to prove himself, the rest of us just had the doors opened in advance. Oh screw this-" he sheathed his sword, then drew his new Falmer staff from his back. The first ice bolt bent the lock, and the second shattered it entirely, allowing him to push the gate open. "I wanted the chance to be myself. I wanted to impress them because I was impressive. Heh, or at least because I could convince them I was..." he walked up to the chest, pulled at the lid. It didn't budge, and he groaned.

"Would you like L'laarzen to pick that for you?" L'laarzen offered.

"Yes, please."

"She could have opened the gate for you too-"

"Yes, I know."

He shifted to let her pass, smiling gratefully.

"Wait, but-" Cassia looked at him in confusion. "If you didn't have the Meteuse name opening doors for you...how _did_ you get in?"

Xander's fists clenched. "What was that?" He asked, icily.

"I'm just saying." She raised her hands placatingly. "Don't get me wrong, you're one of the cleverest people I know, even if you can be a moron sometimes. But you're not...I mean, you know."

"Not what?" He snapped, annoyed. "Not good enough? Because I'm not as gifted as you?"

"That's not what I-"

"They love me up there!" He pointed probably north. "I'm bringing in new books, I'm helping the other students, I'm writing a thesis! They don't care that I'm not-"

"Don't care?" Cassia countered, testily. "Or don't know?"

_That I 'have the Magicka capacity of an Orc teenager'? Thanks for coming up with that one, Cass. Funny. _Xander grit his teeth and took a step-

There was a click, and a cough from behind him. "Done!" L'laarzen remarked, cheerily. She stood up from the chest and looked between them both. "Perhaps, once we get back into the sunlight, we should all share a meal, take a nap? It has been a very stressful few hours, no?"

Xander looked back at his sister's face, taking in her expression. Angry, yes, but most importantly, _hurt_.

_Get it together, man, she's your sister. Where's all this coming from?_

"Yeah. Good idea." He sighed. "Sorry, Cassia. That was my bad."

"No, you're fine, I shouldn't have brought it up."

Situation resolved to his satisfaction (as in, problems hidden rather than confronted), Xander turned back to open the chest, feeling the exhaustion really start to creep up on him. "Right then. Food, sleep, travel to Winterhold, and then I can finally write that letter telling the family I'm not dead. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." Cassia smiled.

"Excellent." He reached in, feeling for coins. "Now, unless something else _ridiculous _would like to happen before we finish-"

**A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON!**

"AAAAAAAAH-!"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

No air had ever tasted as good as the sweat-and-rockdust tainted Markarth air in that moment. Hjar took in a deep breath as she was escorted out of Cidnah mine.

"Ah, this is the life." She exclaimed. "Great prison, everyone. You kept me in there for almost half a week!"

One of the mercenaries shoved her in the back; she chuckled and kept walking.

The Warden left her not far from the entryway to Cidnah Mine, where a squadron of six full guards (helmets covering their faces) arrived to take custody. The two mercenaries, however, stayed, saying that their job was to escort her to her 'final destination'. Didn't really matter to her if she had six or eight guards; her hands were bound either way.

Speaking of being bound, the wolf inside her was absolutely _furious_ at the predicament. As nice as the fresh air was, it did nothing to pacify the beast, which was pacing around inside her growling with pent up frustration. The mine already had the beast high strung, but then she'd gone and teased it with release against the Orc woman before denying it. And now she was doing the exact same thing with her newfound freedom.

Combine that with the aggravating effect of the cursed ring, and she was ready to phase any moment, needing to actively focus on keeping it suppressed.

It was late evening, and there was no way she was going to make it until the morning.

_So we're unleashing it on Thonar then. Wonderful. Just need to keep ourselves from going after Margret...oh, Hircine, can I control it that well?_

They didn't take her up the high street, which was a shame, she'd've been interested to see how the citizens reacted. Instead, she was brought up through the mining district, then across in front of Understone Keep. The two guards outside the entrance tracked her with their gazes as she passed, and she gave them both cheery smiles.

Eventually, they came to what Hjar recognised as an unusual turn. Instead of going left, which she thought would have been the fastest way up to Thonar's manor, they went right, down a smaller alleyway. She thought about asking, but was beaten to it when one of the mercenaries called out "We taking a detour or something?"

"Just a shortcut." The guard at the head called back.

"Heh, right. Shortcut."

Hjar narrowed her eyes, as two of the guards glanced at each other. She couldn't read expressions beneath the masks, but from the subtle head tilts and hand gestures...they weren't aware of this?

Hjar started looking more closely. The two mercs weren't bothering to control their expressions, naked glee on their faces. As for the guards, many were unusually stiff of posture, twitchy, with hands on weapon hilts. When she deliberately skittered a pebble with one foot, five of them flinched towards it. Caution was sensible when escorting a prisoner, but this was increasing as time passed, and it had spiked when they'd taken the wrong turn.

And as the two lead guards took them down turn after turn, leading them further and further away from the busy, civilised parts of the city...

_Oh, I see. I'm not meant to make it to Thonar, am I? But some of these fine officers don't seem in on the plan._

They reached a T-junction, and she stopped walking right in the middle of the intersection.

The guards stopped with her, and she remained completely surrounded.

The distant bustle of the city had receded, it was quiet enough that she could hear the individual breathing of the men through their helmets. She cracked her neck.

"Before we get started." She said, eyes forward. "Would anyone like to back out?"

There was a beat.

One of the guards (who had seemed perfectly relaxed so far) looked rapidly between his compatriots and said "Oh, hold on, is this one of those-Oh, no. I don't want any part of this." He threw his arms up and started walking off, loudly proclaiming "I signed up to fight bandits! Arrest criminals! Have a well paid job where I can stay close to my wife! Not get involved in this thrice damned conspiracy nonsense..." his voice faded into the distance.

"That happen a lot?" Hjar asked.

"There's usually at least one." A guard to her left answered.

She snorted.

And then she moved.

The Oakflesh spell she'd been charging flashed into place just as she collided into one of the guards in front, clamping her hands down on his sword and preventing him from pulling it free of its sheath. Around her, all of the others immediately drew their own weapons and turned on each other, and the street devolved into complete pandemonium.

Hjar wrestled with her guard over his sword, she drove a knee into his groin and he backhanded her across the face. Her flesh spell absorbed most of the damage but she still growled with rage, relinquishing her grip on his sword and ducking. He yanked it free of the sheath and she ducked under his wide, clumsy swing, arms stretching out towards his belt. The dagger she'd spotted there came free of its fastenings at her tug. The guard was fast enough to grab her by the throat with his offhand, but not fast enough to stop her gripping the knife in her bound hands, twisting her arms awkwardly and yanking the blade upwards. She buried it up under his chin, and saw blood drip from beneath his helmet.

His grip slackened and she spun free, rolling beneath one axe-swing but being tackled by one of the mercenaries and thrown into the wall (_OW_). She bashed him in the face once, twice, looked up to take a glance at the combat and _oh, wow, that's absolute chaos_. One of the guards she'd pegged as an ally had a brief reprieve and turned towards her, and trusting her instincts, she held out her hands. He took a step towards her, swinging his handaxe. Hjar tried not to flinch as it buried itself between her hands, snapping through most of her bindings in an instant.

That guard then got a shield smashed into his face for his troubles, and the mercenary that had wall-slammed Hjar was backing up to have room to swing his mace, but it didn't matter; she was free.

Hjar pushed herself off the wall, one arm blocking his swing at the elbow while her other reached up into the open air.

_Dear Lord, who art in Oblivion, I think now would be a good time for some domination, don't you?_

Hjar didn't get a response (except perhaps a dark laugh in the back of her mind) but when the fingers of her raised hand came together, they curled around a cool metal handle.

The mercenary had the time for a shocked look as the Mace of Molag Bal crunched into his head, smashing through his iron helmet like it was so much tin foil.

He slumped and she shoved him away, bringing the mace around for an upward swing that took him entirely off his feet, before taking stock of the battle.

Eight, one had left, she'd killed two, that left five and one of those had been impaled already. A quick glance at the three-vs-one currently taking place, her lone ally being dogpiled (_were there one or two Forsworn at first? Ah whatever_) told her that staying wasn't a good idea. She spun on her heel and started sprinting down one of the alleyways.

"She's getting away! Catch her!"

_Oh, really, you think?_

Hjar panted, throwing herself down one passageway after another as fast as she could as heavy boots charged after her. She had no idea where she was going but she could start to think about that when she wasn't in immediate danger of evisceration, bandits and Forsworn enlists were one thing but city guards were made of sterner stuff-

Windows glowing from fire light flashed by her vision as she passed them, stone cobbles echoing beneath her feet, _Come on, faster, faster-_

She noticed her control slipping and viciously clamped down on it, stumbling as her senses flared. Her adrenaline was up now, and her ability to control the wolf was going to fail any minute. _Just need to find a way out of the city. Come on, Hircine, lend me strength._

She tore around a blind corner, and slid to a stop. Houses left, houses right...house in front. Dead end.

_Oh, yeah, Hircine's disappointed in me. Or maybe this is just because I'm two-timing Molag Bal. Either way, DAMNIT._

Hjar rushed up to the door and tried to yank it open, but it was locked, of course it was locked, and the noise did nothing but give her away.

She turned, resigned, to see the three remaining guards turn the corner behind her, boxing her in.

And of course, there was nothing the wolf hated more than being boxed in.

Gritting her teeth, Hjar raised her mace threateningly, looking between the three aggressors as they moved slowly down the alley towards her, weapons drawn.

"Alright then. Let's do this." She spread her arms. "Come and have a go if you think you're-"

A great grey shape dropped down from above and crashed into the three guards. It batted one of them aside, grabbed another in a great clawed fist and swung him round into a wall so hard Hjar heard the man's bones crack. The third guard tried to swing his sword at the beast, but the blade didn't even penetrate it's fur. The monster simply spun, grabbed the man's head in one claw and his legs in another, and tore.

The remaining guard, the one that had been dismissively knocked aside, was desperately trying to crawl away, but the monster wasn't having any of it. It stomped forwards, trapped the man on the ground with one arm, opened it's jaws, and bit down.

There wasn't much sound after that except for a lot of rending and tearing.

Eventually, the werewolf finished, and looked up at Hjar.

Her breathing was still heavy, vision blurry, and her mind was racing with a thousand questions but she didn't have time for all of them and she couldn't think well enough to form most of them. But she knew one thing: whoever this was, they weren't immediately trying to kill her.

"I need to turn." She gasped out. "I can't...I need a way out of the city, can you take me-_ngh!_" Her body spasmed. "Please? Quickly?"

There were shouts from elsewhere in the city, clearly someone had heard the commotion.

The werewolf looked at her, huffed, then swung it's arm in a 'follow me' gesture and took off throughout the streets.

The relief was what finally did it. Hjar sighed, and let go.

* * *

**Imagine writing a fanfiction about a youtuber's OC and then realising that you've been spelling the name wrong this whole time. Welp, not changing it now.**

**Also imagine being the type of person that will reference the lord's prayer, the avengers, and a seventies UK political sitcom in the same chapter. I'm sorry, folks, I don't know why I'm like this.**

**Cassia is shedding more light on Xander's family, and Dulurza's straight up not having a good time. And who's Hjar's new mystery ally? Well you can probably figure that out, I think I've been good enough at foreshadowing for that to be possible at this point. **

**Next Time: Someone confronts authority, someone avoids responsibility, and someone ends up naked in the woods for like the third time this month.**


	16. Bargaining

**Last Time: Xander reunited with his sister alongside L'laarzen, Dulurza was sent to Winterhold for a way to help Elisif, and Hjar freed herself from Cidnah Mine **

* * *

**Bargaining**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

It was the early hours of the morning, and two great beasts came to rest on a mountaintop in the Reach.

To Hjar's amusement, the stranger seemed to grow tired first, his wolf form panting heavily before slowly shrinking, shedding fur and losing the hunch of a creature not really built to be bipedal.

Satisfied, Hjar followed his example. After their escape from Markarth, they had spent long hours essentially on a romp throughout the area, working together to bring down and share prey. Her wolf was (for the moment) content, and she allowed herself to relax, taking a seat on a nearby rock as she beheld the human form of her saviour.

He was a Nord, she could tell from the ruggedness. Old, from the hair, but clearly still in peak physical condition.

_And _damn _if that isn't peak physical condition. Werewolf hormones are telling me this guy is an _alpha_._

The fact that the two of them were outside together buck naked was a lot less weird than it looked, she swore. He was even wearing a satchel thing that he was tightening about himself, that was clothing, right?

"Don't even think about it." He told her, gruffly, catching her looking. "I'm married."

"Hah! Good for you. Don't worry, I'm taken as well." Hjar leaned back on the rock, stretching. "Thanks for the save back there, friend. I'd have had to transform to kill them, and I'm not sure what I'd've done to that city if I hadn't had your scent to follow."

"Don't mention it." He crossed his arms and looked at her. "You're a difficult woman to track down. I picked you up most recently in Whiterun, of all places. Wasn't expecting you to head back to Markarth, and I _really_ didn't think to find you in Cidnah Mine."

"Trust me, I didn't spend a second longer in there than I had to." Hjar squinted at him. "Who are you?"

"My name's Arnbjorn." He replied.

"Hjarnagredda. Arnbjorn, mind telling me why you've been tracking me across Skyrim?"

"Because you've caught the attention of my family." He replied. "That was one hell of a stunt you pulled in Riften. City was in uproar over how you killed the poor matron."

_Riften?_ She frowned. _I've never even been to Riften._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He scoffed. "Just like I'm sure you've never heard of Aventus Aretino." He walked closer, sitting on the grass across from her. "You're obviously not with the Companions. You smell all wrong. You're just a werewolf who's using her powers as she wishes, and using them carefully. I can respect that." His look sharpened. "But a contract killer should know better than to poach targets from the Dark Brotherhood."

_...Okay. There's a lot to unpack there_. But one of the revelations was a lot more immediately concerning than the rest. Hjar tensed, asking, "You're with the _Dark Brotherhood?_"

He nodded.

_...Oh, Hircine's left testicle._

"Are you here to kill me?" She asked, though immediately upon doing so she realised that wouldn't make sense.

"No, I'd rather not." Arnbjorn told her, which was a massive relief. "If I was, it would have been _you_ I jumped on, not those guards. But I am here to collect on what you owe us."

"I'll pay it." Hjar replied, immediately. _Nope nope nope nope nope- _"Whatever it is, I'll pay. Just give me a couple days to get the coin together and-"

"Astrid isn't interested in your gold." Arnbjorn spoke right over her. "You don't owe us money, you owe us a kill."

"You...want me to _kill_ someone for you?" Hjar gaped at him. _This was so not how I expected tonight to go-_ "Listen, there's been some sort of mix-up, you've got the wrong woman-"

"I think we're past the point where I might actually believe you." Arnbjorn responded, frankly. "I would like for you to come with me. My wife would probably have just kidnapped you, but you're a wolf too, and I'd rather this be done amicably."

Hjar narrowed her eyes. "Now's not a great time for me, actually."

"I don't think I need to explain what happens if you refuse." He growled.

_Oh, would you look at that, I'm being trapped in a corner again. Don't like that._

"First of all, quit talking about everything in your bored Nordic monotone, thinking it makes you sound cool. It's hot, but now it's pissing me off." She jumped off her rock, taking a step towards him. "Second, stop pretending you're the one with the immediate power here." She raised her left hand.

Arnbjorn looked at Hircine's ring. "I sensed it. Lord Hircine's ring grants greater control."

"When it's gifted freely. Long story, but mine is cursed." She wiggled her fingers, grinning. "And it just makes the wolf _angrier_. I can go again if I have to, but let me guess, one round was enough for you?"

He furrowed his brows at her. She wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bluff or not, the wolf inside her was awake but it didn't _want_ to emerge again. But if he did attack her, there was a good chance he'd push it over the edge.

She spun on her heel before he could call her on it, deliberately exposing her back both to show confidence and hide her uncertainty. "Of course, you _can_ threaten me with a cult of angry world-infamous assassins out to kill me, so I don't really want to leave your corpse up here either. Also, you seem nice, and I don't have enough werewolf friends. But at the same time, I can't afford to leave Markarth right now, which puts us at odds."

She turned back to him with a smile. "I'm willing to compromise."

Arnbjorn hadn't moved an inch. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, give me _time_." She stressed, trying not to think too hard about how she was _bargaining with the Dark Brotherhood_. "I don't need long to finish up here. Once I'm done, I'll come pay you your kill."

"What's to stop you running the moment I leave you here?" He asked, face showing no reaction, positive or negative.

"The fact that you can track my ring across half of Tamriel, most likely?" She offered. "The fact that your organisation is touted as being able to find and kill anyone? I'm fully aware that you're in the position of relative power here. My only chip is that you want me to repay you a favour rather than, well, kill you and die. I'd rather help you than die, but I'd rather die than leave my work here unfinished. All I'm asking for is a little time."

"...How long?" He asked, after a long period of staring at her.

_YES!_ She smiled. "Maximum of a couple weeks." His eyes narrowed, "One week! Give me a week and I'll be done."

He continued to stare at her for a long time. Then, eventually, he spoke again. "There is an abandoned shack in the swamps between Morthal and Solitude." He told her. "It's not mapped, but my scent will be all over it. You have two weeks to meet me there, starting today. I would advise allowing yourself a generous amount of spare time, I'm not very patient."

"Got it." Hjar sagged in relief. "Thank you."

"Be late and die." With that, he turned around, and began walking down the north slope of the mountain.

Hjar stood there until she couldn't make out his retreating back anymore, then finally allowed herself to blow out a breath and flop backwards onto the grass.

"Okay." She groaned. "What in the actual realms of Oblivion just happened?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander Meteuse sat at his desk in the College, and put quill to paper.

_'Dear mother and father'-wait, is that too formal?_

**MORTAL! WHY DO YOU CONTINUE TO IGNORE MY SUMMONS?**

**Leave him alone, Meridia, he's busy.**

**OH, EASY FOR YOU TO SAY. HE'S ALREADY DONE YOUR QUEST!**

**Clearly mine is more important.**

_Ah, crap, gotta include everyone. Okay, 'Dear Family'_

"Wait wait wait, pause." Cassia called from his bed, staring in wonder at the godly paperweights on his desk. "You have _two_ Daedric artefacts? And you didn't think to bring that up?"

"Didn't seem relevant." He shrugged. _'I would like to inform you all that I am, in fact, not dead.' Hehe, I like that, very funny._

**YOU MUST BRING MY BEACON TO MOUNT KILLKREATH!**

_'I have travelled to Skyrim to join the college of Winterhold, where I am...' okay, how do I look good without blatantly lying... 'learning many new things and making great strides in various areas'. Haha! I do in fact walk lots of places! Not a lie, go me._

**You know, he took my artefact to my shrine very promptly.**

**MORTAL! ARE YOU SHOWING FAVOURITISM?**

_'I hope you are all doing well-' wait, is that too brief? Ah, crap, how long are they expecting this to be?_

"XANDER!" Cassia shouted. She pointed at the swirly purple blue star, and the frankly enormous white crystal sat next to it. "You expect me to just _ignore_ those? You expect me to be _calm_ about any of this? You have the _EYE OF MAGNUS _just _SITTING IN YOUR LECTURE HALL!"_

"I know, it gives me a headache." _'P.S, love you all-'_

"And the Thalmor man was looking at it funny earlier!"

"Eh. I'm sure it's not important." He glanced over at her. "Shouldn't you be heading back to Cyrodiil instead of bothering me?"

"I just trekked across half of Skyrim! I'll head to Solitude port tomorrow."

"Well you're not having my bed tonight!"

"Well where in Nirn do you _expect_ me to-"

**Xander, darling, Meridia is going to get very upset with you at this rate.**

**MORTAL! STOP IGNORING ME!**

Xander's eyebrow twitched.

"Can you all just be _quiet_ for maybe _two minutes!_" He shouted up at the ceiling.

Amazingly, it worked. Everything around him flashed grey, and his sister froze mid tirade.

"Oh, for the love of..." He spun around in his chair, looking with lidded eyes at the hooded figure stood in his doorway. "Hi, uh. Quandary."

"Quaranir." Snapped the Psyjic monk.

"Whatever." Xander's head slumped on the back of his chair. "What now?"

"You have yet to report the location of the staff of Magnus to your superiors." Quaranir bit out.

"I've been back for like twenty minutes!" Xander moaned. "I haven't _bathed!_ Look at me!" He gestured at the tunic and slacks he was wearing, "I don't even have any clean mage robes since the only ones I haven't sold are either covered in Dwarven oil or the blood of dead Synod mages! And I am _tired!_"

Quaranir looked absolutely baffled. "Young mage, this is a matter of incredible importance-"

"Oh, everything's a matter of incredible importance nowadays!" He pointed back at Meridia's beacon, "There is a literal god that wants me to trek halfway across Skyrim, shouldn't I do that first?"

**YES YOU SHOULD!** screeched Meridia, prompting Xander to turn around and shout "And HOW aren't you frozen?"

**We're Daedra.** Said Azura, with some amusement. **This Psyjic's tricks mean little to us.**

**WAIT, YOU CAN HEAR ME?** Meridia exclaimed.

Xander rolled his eyes, "Of course I can hear you! I can hardly hear anything else!"

**YOU-YOU'VE BEEN _IGNORING_ ME EVER SINCE YOU FOUND ME?**

Xander turned back to Quaranir, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, "Daedra, am I right?"

Quaranir didn't look impressed. "Young mage-"

"My _name_, Quaranir." Xander interrupted, eyes hard. "Use it."

"Alexander." Quaranir sighed. "This is a matter of life and death. The chain of events set in play by your arrival in Winterhold concerns the fate of the whole of Skyrim, Tamriel, even Mundus itself. Please, just...just take this seriously?"

Xander looked up at him a little longer.

Thought about it.

Then he turned to his desk, grabbed the letter, gave it a cursory once over, and held it out to Quaranir. "Here. Copy this out in neat handwriting onto some fancy paper, and deliver it to my family."

"E-_Excuse_ me?" Quaranir looked at him, aghast.

"You'll need to make copies, actually." Xander remembered, putting it in the Psyjic's hand before he had time to respond. "I'm pretty sure Octavia and Julius are out, doing...I dunno what they do. Surfing down volcanoes. Partying with Sanguine. Running the empire. Whatever badassery they get up to on the daily. So find them, get them each a letter, and then get one to the Meteuse Manor in Cyrodiil."

"I-You-" Quaranir looked like he was having a fit. "I am a Psyjic monk! Not a _courier_!"

"Hey don't insult couriers, they're very professional people." Xander reprimanded him. "And I'm sorry, I was under the opinion that you wanted me to go talk to the Archmage now?" He hardened his eyes. "My family are my priority, Quaranir. If you don't take it I'm gonna have to walk into Winterhold proper and hire someone to deliver this."

"But...but I'm busy!" Quaranir protested.

"Don't you basically own the concept of time?"

"No! Time is of the essence!"

"_Exactly_. Then you'd best save me as much of mine as possible so I can go about doing...whatever it is you want me to do." Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "Eh? Eh? Come on~"

For a few seconds, Quaranir looked very much like he was swallowing a large toad. Then he sighed, and seemed to deflate. "Your two older siblings and your family manor, yes?"

"Yep! Oh, and can you also write 'and Cassia is fine too' since I don't think she was supposed to be on her trip for this long. Just stick it in the middle somewhere."

"...Sure. Whatever."

"Awesome!" Xander stood up and pat him on the shoulder. "Right, then I'm off to go deliver the report to the Archmage like a good little prophesy child. Warm sands! Ooh, I like that one, L'laarzen has such good idioms..."

"Meridia's beacon." Quaranir added, pinching his nose with one hand and holding the letter with another.

"Pardon?"

"Take it with you. Trust me, it'll...it'll make this next bit easier."

"Oh, got it, thanks."

Quaranir vanished, and colour returned to the world.

"I mean seriously, this place is-whoa." Cassia blinked, trailing off. "What did I just sense? Xander, what did you just do?"

Xander walked back to his desk, hefting Meridia's beacon. "Simple, Cassia. Your big brother just saved himself ten septims on the courier! Whoop whoop! Oh, if you touch my stuff while I'm out Azura will set you on fire. Bye!"

He waltzed out of the room.

**...Are you actually this confident, or just sleep deprived? **Meridia's voice echoed out after him.

_The latter._

**I thought so.**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza stood in the Archmage's chambers, fidgeting with both nervousness and impatience, as he read over the letter she had delivered.

"How...Intriguing." He said eventually, which struck her as an entirely pointless thing to say. He looked up at her. "It says your name is Dulurza, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir." Respect was important, this man could probably disintegrate her with a finger twitch.

"'Sir', again, how amusing. My name is Savos Aren. You're not one of my students, so feel free to use it."

"Fine then. Can you help, Aren?"

"Isn't that a question." He took up a pen, began writing on a piece of paper. "At almost any other point of my tenure here this would have been the most important thing on my mind. Yet here you are, arriving right when an ancient and powerful artefact appears in my care." He glanced up at her, eyes sparkling. "These are exciting times, are they not? The proverbial winds are picking up."

Dulurza was able to stop herself demanding 'get to the point'. She couldn't stop the long exhale blowing out from her nostrils.

Aren noticed it, and laughed. "Hah! Forgive me, you must grow tired of the self-indulgent drivel that we mages so love to pour out. I shall get to the point."

He leaned back in his chair. "Firstly, I do not possess an immediate answer to your problem. Untethered ghosts are fairly easy to deal with, and when one possesses a mortal through some ritual or another, there is usually nothing of the host left. Both such events are very well documented. But I do not know of any cases such as you are describing. A part-failed, part-successful possession attempt. I'd be travelling to Solitude to study it myself, were I not occupied as I just said."

"So you can't help." Dulurza summarised.

"No, that's not what I said." Aren steepled his fingers. "Colette Marence is our eminent master of Restoration, and Phinis Gestor is our best conjurer. Either may have insights that I have missed. Not to mention it's rare that any problem is solved by an idea we have immediately that works first time. I make no promises, but with some time to analyse the subject, brainstorm, and test methods, there is a good chance we could solve the problem."

"Then give me them both." Dulurza asked, glad the solution was so simple. "I'll take them to Solitude and they can fix everything. My Jarl has promised to pay handsomely."

"She has indeed." Savos chuckled, eyes drifting down to the impressive sum quoted in the letter before rising back to Dulurza's. "However, matters are not so simple."

"_Ugh_." Dulurza growled. "Why?"

"Because I get the feeling it is not some stableboy who is the victim in this predicament." Aren explained, smirking in a particularly annoying way. "For the Jarl herself to be sending a personal guard to deliver the request, with such a high offer of payment, suggests to me that this ghost has taken someone of importance in Solitude. Perhaps a noble, or a high ranking member of the guard. Perhaps even an Imperial officer. Perhaps it is you yourself." His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps it is someone who the Empire would be remiss to lose, in this war they are waging."

"The College is neutral in the war." Dulurza repeated what Elisif had told her, frowning.

"We are. But we do reside in Winterhold." Aren sighed. "Tell me, what do you think happens if Jarl Korir decides that, not only did we sink most of his city, we also helped in the war against the Stormcloaks? Do you know how troublesome it would be if he attacked us? Killing him would mean _so _much paperwork." The Archmage shuddered. "Perhaps the Stormcloaks declare us an enemy and move to take the College? Most likely they would fail, but we have not the resources to survive a siege; we would have to flee to Imperial protection, and hence, Imperial restrictions and demands. I've spent too much effort fending off Ancano's nosing to give all our secrets to the Thalmor now."

Dulurza narrowed her eyes. She could see his point.

"Or perhaps we set the precedent that _any_ faction may hire us in matters of war. We're lucky that so far, we are mistrusted enough that they do not ask. I don't want the desks of my fellow teachers swamped with letters offering grand sums from conflicting groups to tear one city down or another. Or worse, they may make the same offers to the apprentices here, and _those_ may not be wise enough to refuse."

"Fantastic." Dulurza turned away, throwing her arms into the air. "Even when you don't pick a side, you're picking the side of not picking a side. I trek across Skyrim's whole north coast to find unaffiliated mages, and you _still_ can't help!"

"It is delightfully ironic, isn't it?" Aren chuckled. He tilted his head at her, "But you need to understand my position. You are an Orc. Surely you must respect that I place great value in protecting my own."

She did, and that was the worst part. If she'd been in charge of Mor Khazgor and people had been asking to hire her men as soldiers, she might have made the same decision Aren was. The tribe came first, and that was that. Though of course she'd never stop someone from her tribe fighting for glory, a cause they believed in, or even just money, so long as it didn't endanger their fellows.

_Come to think of it, is father throwing that wisdom aside? If we attack Solitude, what happens to us..?_

"I do." She said eventually, meeting his eyes. "But one of _my_ own is suffering."

Savos looked at her for a long time, before nodding. "I understand. Allowing the deaths of a few for the safety of many...It's a decision I have had to make more than once in the past." His eyes sharpened. "I have grown sick of it."

He tapped the paper he had written on earlier. "That is a list of books in the Arcanaeum that I believe may help, and instructions to Urag that you have my permission to borrow them for a period of up to four months. The final decision is up to him, however; try to convince him that you're the reliable sort. And bring a well-padded rucksack."

He stood, walking over to her and offering the paper. "Colette's office hours begin early tomorrow morning. Ultimately, she is her own person; I trust her to make her own decisions, so you may try and persuade her to help you. I will ask Mirabelle to set you up with a guest room in the Hall of Attainment until then, and I wish you good luck in your endeavours. But I'm afraid that's all I can do."

"I understand." _But I sure as Oblivion don't like it._ She took the paper, nodded stiffly, and left.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ****̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Dulurza hadn't made it more than halfway down the spiral staircase before she bumped into someone who wasn't looking where they were going. They promptly bounced off her, swore, tripped, dropped some big white thing they were carrying, and started falling backwards, meaning Dulurza had to reach out and snag the front of their tunic to stop them cracking their skull open on the stone. The white rock (she thought crystal at first glance, but there was no way any crystal was that big) started bouncing down the stairs.

"Hey!" She snapped, irritated after her meeting. "Watch yourself, you little-" she met the stranger's eyes and blinked. "_You?_"

"Dulurza!" Alexander grinned up at her. "How are you doing! Uh, can you put me down?"

Not at all trusting him to find his feet in the narrow stairwell, she instead picked him up by his armpits ("Hey!") and carried him down to the floor below, depositing him in the entryway to the Arcaney-whatsit. _Seriously, just call it a library. Even Orcs have those._

"There." She told him. "And aye, glad to see you haven't gotten yourself killed since we last met."

"Ohoho, not for lack of trying." He chuckled, nervously, before looking around. "Oh, no, where did it go, please tell me I didn't break the thing-"

She looked him up and down. He wasn't carrying his usual assortment of staves, or his sword, or in fact even his robes. "You look like crap."

"Thanks, I feel worse. Oh, _there_ you are. Yeah yeah stop complaining, you're fine..." the white rock had eventually stopped rolling and jammed itself under a bookshelf, and Xander pulled it out with a tug. "Sorry, talking to the beacon. How are you doing? Oh, are you here to get your axe enchanted?"

_Oh damn, that would be nice_...But Dulurza shook her head. "If I'm lucky, I won't have the time to, though at this rate I might be hovering around for days...I'm on a mission for my Jarl, I just got down from talking the Archmage."

"Oh, okay." Xander nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense, it is the only room up those stairs...Yeah I was about to do the same."

Dulurza tilted her head. "You were going to see the Archmage in your nightclothes?"

"These aren't nightclothes!" He insisted, seemingly outraged. "They're undergarments! Okay, that sounds worse..."

She snorted. "Seriously, where's all your gear?"

"In my room, dirty or trashed. And I don't _need_ it, it's not like he'll attack me. Oh, but-" he reached down to a small sheath on his belt, pulling out a very familiar green dagger. "Still got this!"

"Well done." Dulurza smiled with some genuine pride. "Put it to any use?"

"Some. Stabbed a guy."

"Well it is a dagger."

"Hah! Funny. Yeah I take it everywhere, just in case. I sleep with it." He froze right after saying so. "Uh. Was that a weird thing to say."

"No, you're fine." Dulurza grinned. "I may have smelt it, but it's none of my business what depraved things you do to it."

"Hey!"

"_Relax_. I keep a dagger in my bedroll too."

They shared a laugh, and Xander leaned against one of the bookshelves, setting the beacon down on a nearby cupboard. "So, what business is it? Must be important if you've come all the way here for help."

Dulurza narrowed her eyes. She glanced left and right, checking that they were alone, then leaned in. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Absolutely not. Tell me anyway." Xander whispered back, glee obvious on his face.

"I'm serious." She growled, and he quailed. _Malacath as my witness, this Man..._Still, odd as it was to think it, she _did_ trust him. He'd had chance to sell her out before. "Solitude's gotten into some bad business with a conjurer." She summarised. "I killed the wench, but a ghost's latched onto our Jarl, and we can't get rid of it."

Xander made a face. "Oh, wow. Unlucky him."

"_Her_, you don't know your own Jarls?"

"I'm not from Skyrim, lay off!" Suddenly, Xander winced, hands moving up to block his ears. He glared at his rock and shouted "I know, I KNOW! I'm in the middle of a conversation here!"

"You have a rock that _talks?_" Dulurza looked at it, incredulously.

"Yeah, it's getting it to shut up that's the trick." Xander rounded on it. "Listen, I know that routing undead is your entire thing, but it's not like you're going to..." he trailed off. Looked at Dulurza out of the corner of his eye. "...Undead _are_ your whole thing, aren't they?"

Dulurza's self defence instincts started to prick up as she raised an eyebrow.

"Say..." Xander turned back to her. "You said Solitude, right?"

"I did." She replied, concerned.

"Is Mount Kilkreath near there?"

"A couple miles northwest, aye. A shrine or something."

He grinned. "Dulurza, I have an idea."

"Oh no." She replied, taking a step backwards.

"What if I told you that I could get you a highly talented restoration mage _and_ an artefact specifically made for smiting ghosts for the price of _one_ measly escort-then-dungeon-crawl?"

"...I'd be suspicious but interested." Dulurza said, after debating for a moment whether it would be better to run screaming from the room.

Xander's grin widened. "Meridia, honey." He called to the rock. "Would you mind talking so both of us can hear you?"

There was a beat. Then,

**SPEAKING WITH ONE OTHER THAN MY CHOSEN CHAMPION IS A SERIOUS BREACH OF TRADITION.**

Dulurza jumped away from the rock, one hand on her axe, _what in Malacath's name-_

"Yeah, well, if I was one to respect tradition I wouldn't have wired all the Synod's data crystals together into a hive mind." Xander sidled over to it, "So, this big Daedric quest thing. What exactly are the details, requirements, and rewards?"

"That's a Daedric Prince." Dulurza pointed at the rock. "That's an actual Daedric Prince. You dropped a Daedric Prince down a staircase."

"A Daedric Prince's _artefact_." Xander corrected. "Relax, they make them sturdy."

**MY CHOSEN CHAMPION MUST DELIVER MY BEACON TO MY SHRINE AT MOUNT KILKREATH. **Meridia recited. **THERE, THEY WILL REMOVE THE CURSED TAINT, RETRIEVE DAWNBREAKER, AND BECOME AN INSTRUMENT OF MY CLEANSING LIGHT.**

"Dawnbreaker, yes! Perfect!" Xander clapped his hands together. "So, 'deliver'. Quick tangent, would you say that if I hired a courier-slash-Psyjic monk to send a letter to someone, I would have 'delivered' it?"

**...WELL, YES, BUT-**

"So if I got my fine courageous Orsimer friend here to take you your Beacon, I would have fulfilled the first part of that?"

"You want to _outsource_ a Daedric Quest?" Dulurza gaped at him.

**BUT-YOU MUST BECOME THE-**

"Instrument of your cleansing light, yes, sure, I can wield Dawnbreaker afterwards. Dulurza can just bring it back to me!"

"You want me to do your quest for you and then give you the reward?" Dulurza was impressed by his audacity if nothing else.

"I'm offering you the opportunity to quickly retrieve and use a tool you would otherwise never have access to." Xander countered. "Meridia, the Dawnbreaker is good at smiting ghosts, right?"

**IT IS _EXCEPTIONAL_ AT SMITING GHOSTS. **The goddess replied, smugly.

Xander smiled innocently at Dulurza.

"You certainly have a way with words." She admitted, grudgingly. _I _am _low on time. We have no idea how long it will take before Elisif...we don't even know what will _happen _to Elisif._ "And the restoration mage?"

"I know one who's planning to head to Solitude anyway, who would be absolutely _thrilled_ to do a quest for a Jarl of the nation's capital, and who's one of the most talented in Tamriel at turning undead." He smirked. "Cassia Meteuse. My sister."

_...Ah._ "Is she...like _you?_" Dulurza asked, tentatively.

The genuine horror that appeared on Xander's face threw Dulurza off for a second.

"No!" He insisted. "No, no no no no no. Trust me, she's brilliant, she's smart, powerful, everything you could want. Please don't base your opinion on her off of me, she..." he took in a breath. "My siblings are nothing like me. Trust me."

_Oh, wow. That was heartfelt_. "Alexander." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I was joking. If your sister is _anything_ like you, I'd be honoured to work with her."

"You...really?" He blinked up at her at the admission.

"Really. But your loyalty to your family does you credit." Dulurza stepped back and hummed. "It's a damn good deal, thinking about it. Assuming everyone agrees."

**I HAVE STILL NOT AGREED.** Meridian spoke up.

"Oh come on." Xander looked at the rock. "Your beacon and my sister show up in the same dungeon, right as my friend shows up needing an undead-slayer? This is prophesy, right?"

**YOU DON'T GET TO TELL THE DAEDRA WHAT IS AND ISN'T PROPHESY!** Meridia retorted.

"But if, hypothetically, you _had_ planned this entire thing out." Xander mused. "Then it would be really, _really_ impressive of you. And it would be an amazing story, right? Everything coming together perfectly? And you'd be able to tell all the other Daedra about how much of a genius you were for making it all work out." He sighed, theatrically. "Of course, if you're saying that you _didn't_ mean it, then-"

**WAIT A MOMENT.** Meridia interrupted. **THE...THE INTENTIONS OF US DAEDRA ARE OFTEN HARD FOR YOU MORTALS TO COMPREHEND. PERHAPS ALL THIS _IS_ OCCURRING ACCORDING TO MY PLAN.**

"I'll certainly say so to anyone I meet." Xander leaned in. "So..?"

**...FINE.**

"She's in! No take backs!" Xander hefted the Beacon and tossed it to Dulurza. "Yours now. Enjoy, good luck!"

She caught it, finding it to be heavier than she'd expected. Significantly heavier than it had seemed in Xander's hands.

"Thank you. You are really going all out for this." She mused, looking at him. "What do you hope to get out of it? I don't believe for a moment you couldn't complete this quest for yourself."

"Well, because I'm busy enough as it is." Xander replied with a shrug. When that got a flat look, he sighed. "Because...I have it on good authority that something serious is about to happen here at the College. I want my sister out of harms way when that happens, and you're in the top five people I'd trust her safety to. And also," he scratched the top of his head, smiling embarrassedly, "This is obviously important to you. I want to help."

"Hmph." She couldn't help but smile at him. "You know, I remember you being a lot more pathetic than this."

"Hey!"

"Heheh. Alright, I've got books to borrow, then I'll go find your sister."

"My room, hall of Attainment. Take care."

"You too." She reached out her forearm. He clasped it, they shook, and with a final nod she walked into the Arcaeneum proper, leaving him to continue past her up the stairs.

* * *

**8˂**

The walls of Snow Veil Sanctum provided some cover from the biting northern winds, and L'laarzen was thankful for it. _There is such a rugged beauty to this land,_ she thought, stepping down into the central pit,_ but does it have to be so cold?_

"Well you certainly took your time." Mercer stepped out of the shadows. "Didn't I give you instructions not to make me wait?"

L'laarzen smiled sweetly. "Khajiit is very sorry, she came as fast as she could." She lied, shamelessly. "But these roads are treacherous, and the storms here are much stronger than those of my homeland."

"Excuses are meaningless. Learn. Improve." He gestured, and she followed him to an iron door in the side of the cairn. "Karliah's here alright. Her camp is just nearby."

"L'laarzen saw." She had done some scouting of her own. "Was it you who gutted her poor horse?"

"Yes. And trapped the camp, not that I expect it to do much good. If she wants to escape, she can do it under the cover of the snowstorm and there's not much we'll be able to do to track her."

"Then we must catch her before she can escape." L'laarzen glanced sideways at him. "You never explained exactly what this Karliah did. I have only heard snippets and hearsay, both from yourself and from the rest of the guild."

"You need to know?" He gave her a glare, indicating that she really ought to back down.

She didn't. "If I am to help you kill this woman, then yes."

He held her gaze for a few more seconds, before huffing. "Back in the old days, before all this sabotage and bad luck started, there was a trio of us who ran the Thieves Guild. Gallus was the guild master, and beneath him were me and Karliah." His lip quirked. "She was a better thief than me, I'll admit as much, if not a better fighter. Gallus loved her. Was _in_ love with her, I'd bet. But Karliah...there was a reason she took her missions alone, kept her own loot. She always hated sharing."

He leaned down by the door, fishing an ornate-looking lockpick from his pocket and getting to work and positioning himself so L'laarzen couldn't see what he was doing. "Karliah called me and Gallus out to a meeting, right here at Snow Veil. Me and him met, started talking, wondering where she was...and then an arrow sprouted from his throat. He was dead before he hit the ground." Something in the door clicked, and he stood up. L'laarzen couldn't help but admire his speed. _His time in Skyrim must have granted him experience with such locks; I took much longer on the Dwemer chest earlier._

"There was a snowstorm that night, just like this one. Karliah is the only woman I know who could land a bow-shot in that weather, but I was just lucky enough to use it to escape. Almost died of frostbite before I could get to Winterhold. But this time we're on the offensive. And there's no storm on the inside of a tomb."

"_Her_ tomb." L'laarzen agreed. "As L'laarzen said. She despises traitors."

_I regret what I did to the Falmer. But this...this is justified. This is right._ She unsheathed her claws. "Let us go."

Mercer nodded, pushing the door open. "Alright, but be careful. Knowing Karliah, she'll have riddled the place with-"

He jerked to the left, as with a snap of rope and a rumble of stone a giant sharpened log swung down from the roof just within the entrance, spearing through the doorway and missing him by mere inches.

"...Traps." He finished. He glanced at her. "You're going first."

_Oh, of course._ "As Khajiit's guildmaster commands." Rolling her eyes, L'laarzen crept past the log and through into the barrow.

* * *

**I'm late! Bollocks!**

**I have no excuse, I literally just forgot to upload yesterday. Spent the whole afternoon at a lockdown-obeying barbecue. Food wasn't even that good, either...**

**Still, the chapter is here. This chapter is the drumroll, building up to some pretty big events. You can tell because the next chapter is _obnoxiously _long by my standards. Hey, think of it this way; now you've only got a six day wait until that chapter arrives! Aren't you lucky.**

**Next Time: Someone has tea, someone's a little bit racist, and someone has an _excellent _reaction time.**


	17. Betrayal

**Last Time: Dulurza agreed to take Meridia's beacon to Solitude with Cassia, L'laarzen prepared to enter Snow Veil Sanctum, Xander went to talk to Archmage Aren and Hjar received a threat from the Dark Brotherhood.**

* * *

**Betrayal**

* * *

**8˂**

Draugr were _so_ much easier to kill than Falmer. A brief burst of a basic flame spell took one in the face, staggering it, allowing L'laarzen to step in and drag a dagger across its throat. It was a simple steel blade, the sort you wouldn't begrudge anyone carrying for self defence. The only reason she was using it was because she didn't want to get her claws stuck in undead guts, and the fact she was unconcerned about handicapping herself in such a way proved how little a threat the zombies were.

That was all window-dressing, however. The reason it was so easy was because she didn't have to worry about taking lives. _These Nords died long ago. There is no light in their eyes besides that __eerie blue glow__. _It was a relief, after her last mission.

She elegantly finished the latest set of Draugr that had accosted them, and looked back to see Mercer walk through the carnage, barely glancing at her. She scowled at the back of his head as he passed. The guild-master seemed quite content to let her deal with everything in the way, traps, zombies and all.

_Pettiness? Or perhaps he believes he should be conserving his strength for Karliah?_

The much more paranoid thought, that he was attempting to learn her fighting style without giving away his own, lingered in the back of her mind despite attempts to vanquish it.

"Oh, here we are. One of the old Nordic puzzle doors." Mercer came to a stop at the end of the corridor, where an imposing door barred their progress. The stone was hewn into concentric circles, with images of hawks and snakes, and a golden plaque in the centre bearing the imprint of a claw. "Doubtless she'll have made off with the key, which would ordinarily leave this impassable. Ordinarily. There's a trick to these, if you know it..."

"Surely you do not mean to open this with a _lockpick_?" L'laarzen asked, half joking, as he knelt by the door and started fiddling with it.

"I'm a professional, cat. Watch and learn..."

_How can I if you so determinedly hide what you are doing?_ She thought, bitterly. Nonetheless, it took him less than thirty seconds before the door began to rumble and turn.

"After you." He smiled, smugly, stepping aside.

_Grrr..._L'laarzen walked past him, tail flicking irritably.

The next room was even gloomier than the last few, only a few small cracks of daylight filtering through holes in the roof, and her feline pupils dilated significantly to bring the shadows into focus. It was a large chamber. Stairs leading upwards, and lots of pillars dotting the space. _Perfect for an ambush. Wonderful._ Her first foot stepped through the aperture. She sniffed the dry air, and caught a very unpleasant scent beginning to move through the newly opened door into the rest of the cave. The scent of death. Fresher than that of the Draugr, but still very old. She followed her nose, and eventually her eyes alighted on a shape slumped against one of the pillars. A grey leather bodysuit. Bloated strangely, with its lower half covered in some dark liquid. It looked very much like a corpse only barely retaining form due to its clothing, that would completely fall apart if it was freed. Months, if not years old. _Gallus..? Wait, but-_

She took another step forwards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the barest glint of light on metal in the corner of the cave.

She jerked, throwing herself to the right just as she heard a quiet 'thunk' echo through the cave. Something whizzed past her, barely missing her shoulder, and she dove forwards behind one of the pillars, pressing herself flat against it.

"Mercer!" She hissed. "Sniper!"

Mercer didn't respond. He staggered forwards through the doorway, eyes wide, with an arrow stuck in his right breast.

It seemed that choosing to stand right behind her had backfired somewhat.

"Ah...sorry?" L'laarzen winced.

Mercer slipped, spun, and collapsed on his back.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"Ah, good to see you initiate. Tea?" Despite his pleasant greeting, Savos Aren hardly glanced at Xander as the apprentice opened the door, instead working through assorted notes at his desk.

"Oh. Uh." Suffice to say Xander was caught a little off guard, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I'd love some, actually. It's been a long day."

"Excellent. Please, sit down." Aren gestured with a finger, and a chair pulled itself out at his table, while with his other he gestured at a teakettle nearby, which began boiling itself. Xander felt a stab of envy as he sat down. He _knew_ the telekinesis spell, it was one of his favourites. He just couldn't lift anything heavier than a feather with the thing.

"Forgive me if I am brusque during this meeting; one doesn't realise how much free time one has until it's gone. I thought I was a busy man before, now suddenly I'm juggling a giant Magna-Ge artefact and a haunting in Solitude's court, on top of my usual duties."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that last one, I sorted it." Xander told him, distractedly, his main focus on trying to figure out what magic was powering the kettle.

"You...'sorted' it?" Aren glanced back at him, pausing what he was doing.

"Yeah, I know Dulurza. I found her a freelance mage talented at exorcism to hire and gave her a Daedric artefact of Meridia. She should be leaving soon. Oh, that _is_ a fire rune on the kettle, do you just flare your magicka at it every time you want to turn it on?"

"...Ah, yes, that's how it works." Aren looked nonplussed. "I'm sorry, you _gave away_ a Daedric artefact?"

"Well yeah, I wasn't using it." Xander looked at him, then back at the kettle. "That's boiling, do you want to-"

Aren blinked, then sighed and gestured, floating the kettle over. "You are a remarkable student, Mister Meteuse. I suppose next you will inform me that you found the Staff of Magnus just lying around in Mzulft?"

"Hah! No, of course not." They shared a chuckle as Savos Aren poured the tea. Xander blew at his cup to cool it and took a small sip, before saying "I do know where it is though."

Savos choked on his tea. Xander looked at the Archmage in alarm as he coughed violently, spilling a lot of his cup on his desk before recovering. "Eugh. Ahem, sorry, you _found_ it? How?"

"Dwemer." Xander responded, simply. To be fair, 'Dwemer' was often a fairly good answer to 'how did this impossible thing just happen'. How did the Snow Elves go extinct? Dwemer. How come this big robot can conquer the Summerset Isles in two hours? Dwemer. How come the Dwemer all vanished? Dwemer.

Savos Aren seemed to agree. "Very well." He took another tentative sip, then carefully put the drink down before asking "And where is it, if so?"

"Not too far, actually." Xander answered, considering trying to wipe up the tea spill before chickening out. "From the looks of it, the Staff of Magnus is somewhere in Labyrinthian."

Aren stilled. His expression went from fairly relaxed to sharp and cold in a matter of moments, and his eyes narrowed. "Labyrinthian. The ancient city from Dragon times? You are sure?"

Alexander gulped, suddenly very aware he was in a room with (quite probably) the strongest mage in the country. He took another sip of tea. "Fairly sure. A magical signature twinning with the Eye, in the mountain pass between Dawnstar and Whiterun. That's Labyrinthian, right? I mean I could be wrong, I took a sketch-"

"No, you're right." Savos forestalled him with a raised hand. "It's in Labyrinthian. Of course it is. It makes too much sense. All this time..."

_Um. What?_

Savos stood up from his chair, walking over to one wall. "The inner confines of the Labyrinthian are locked, both by a very big door and by old nord magicks even I don't understand. Fortunately, I hold the key."

Xander brightened. "You do? Nice! So we can go in and-"

"No." Savos cut him off. "We leave it where it is."

"..._Pardon?_" Xander asked, flabbergasted.

Aren rapped his knuckles against four of the stone bricks making up his wall. There was a rumbling, and some of the stones sort of peeled back from the wall itself, revealing an alcove within._ Secret hidey hole! Awesome!_

"When I was still an apprentice here, a young mage of fifty years or so, I and a group of my fellows joined together in an expedition to Labyrinthian." Savos explained. "We were so excited, so hungry for what knowledge and power might be found in those depths...Only I survived."

Part of Xander couldn't help but be unimpressed. _Oh, big deal, you went umprepared into a dungeon crawl? I've done it three times now and I'm fine!_ He viciously clamped down on the instinct, however. _People are dead. This is serious._ "But surely, you're not an apprentice now." Xander protested. "Whatever seemed like such a big danger then might not be threatening anymore."

"Hm, if only. Sadly, I fear that my increased power will grant me no new success against what I found..." Aren fished a small silver key out of his robes, and inserted it into a wrought-iron safe within the hidey-hole. With a click, he opened it. "As much as I would love to have such a powerful staff in the College's possession, I will not endanger myself, yourself, or my colleagues in an endeavour to claim it." He reached into his safe, pulling out an ornate metal horseshoe. Well, it was horseshoe shaped; on closer inspection it more resembled the ring of a door-knocker. It would fit right in with the ancient Nordic architecture Xander had recently become so acquainted with.

"Still here, I see. Good. I had to check." Savos muttered, mostly to himself. "You will remain here, and the Staff will remain where it is as well..."

Back at the table, Xander had stood up too. "Hold on. Archmage, I don't want the staff just because I want a powerful weapon! I don't even-" he stopped, halting the stream of consciousness to check if he really meant what he was saying. _No, yes, I mean it_. "I don't really want it _at all_, danger or no danger. Power or no power. As a matter of fact, I wish we didn't even have the Eye!"

Savos frowned, looking back at him. "Really? Why so? And if so, why are you insistent upon retrieving it?"

"Because-" Xander sighed. "Archmage, I assure you I'm not exaggerating here. We have the most powerful magical artefact on this half of the continent just _sat in our lecture hall!_ Doesn't that strike you as dangerous?"

"It is defended." Aren assured him. "Wards around it prevent direct access from anyone but myself and the six masters of the schools."

"Oh, so the only people who can get it are those good enough to break your wards or good enough to deceive, control or coerce master level wizards." Xander crossed his arms. "So all you've done there is limit its access to the people who would actually be able to misuse it if they could access it."

"Misuse how?" Aren demanded. "Do you know of any particular way it is a threat?"

Xander coughed. "Well, no. But you wouldn't leave a scroll of fire storm around some infants just because they probably don't know how to use it, would you? The Eye is clearly incredibly powerful and we have no idea what it is, what it does, or how it works!"

Aren tilted his head. "You're truly afraid. Hypothetical worry isn't enough for that. Is this...something to do with what the Psijics wanted?"

Xander grimaced. Nodded.

"I see..." Savos turned away, looking towards his garden in thought. "Oh, by the Daedra. I knew something was wrong. The most secretive magical group on Mundus doesn't visit for idle matters..." he looked back. "And you think, what? That bringing the Staff here will do something other than make the threat greater?"

"'To see through Magnus' eye without being blinded, you will require his staff.'" Xander quoted, looking to the floor. "I think that we can use it to control the Eye somehow. Understand it better." He looked back up. "But even if not. What's the alternative, leave the Staff there, just putting it off until the end of your lifetime and pass the duty on to someone else? It's irresponsible! Even if you lost-"

He cut himself off, eyes widening, _what in Oblivion are you saying do you _want _him to set you on fire?_

But Savos wasn't preparing the incineration spell. He was looking at Xander very, very carefully.

"...Men and their short lifespans." He mused, after a while. "Always in a hurry. But this time, I think-"

He was interrupted when the room suddenly shook around them.

The teacups on the table spilled over completely, the magical lights flickered, and both Xander and Aren struggled to maintain their feet as something rumbled beneath them. Both also felt the hairs on their skin prickle, in response to a powerful magical surge in the air.

Xander looked up at Aren. "Ten septims says it's the Eye."

"I'd have to be a fool to bet against that." Savos shoved the ancient knocker in his robes, ordered "Follow me." and stormed out the door.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Margret had always felt that there was something incredibly embarrassing about picking locks. Of all the skills she'd been taught during her training it was the one she'd enjoyed the least, and the one she'd taken to the slowest. Most spying skills could be glamorous, even in failure. If someone catches you in a lie, you can smile and watch the horror dawn in their eyes as they reappraise who they think you are. If someone catches you after an assassination, they still see you stood over a man's bed with a bleeding dagger. Amazing image. Less of that when you get caught hunched up by a locked door with your tongue stuck out.

But hunched up by a locked door with her tongue stuck out she was. Using a hairpin she'd purloined from a drunk Betrid and and a spike she'd stolen from a Dwemer timekeeping device on one wall, she carefully but hurriedly tried to pick open the lock to her room.

Now ordinarily that would be pointless, given that there was always a guard just outside. But something was clearly happening outside her walls. There had been a period of loud shouting and stomping footsteps, and her pounding on her door had yielded no response from the man usually present.

In other news, it was an opportunity. Margret loved her some opportunities.

With a click and a whispered "YES!" the door came unlocked, and Margret took one last look through the keyhole to check the corridor was clear before slipping out through into it.

_Okay, freedom. Now, let's rob this profiteering prick for everything he owns, find out exactly what he's doing, and get back to Hjaalmarch._

For once, she found herself thankful of the massive amount of land the Silver-Bloods owned. _Big houses; so bad for getting lost in but so good for not getting caught!_ Most of the chaos seemed to becoming from the main entrance and reception, so she made sure to go not there as she crept through the Dwarven halls. One voice echoed louder than the others, and it was captain silverpants himself. "HOW!? YOU HAD EIGHT MEN ESCORTING HER! HOW ARE THEY _ALL_ DEAD?"

_Oh, that sounds bad. Okay, come on. Why aren't there signs in here? Treasury, head office? Give me a hand here!_

She did get a hand. One grabbed hers from behind and spun her around.

Now, Margret had three reasons to be startled at that moment, which hit her in sequence over the course of a single second and basically caused her adrenaline system to just give up.

Reason one: _TALOS' LEFT TESTICLE I'VE BEEN FOUND._ She gripped the vaguely sharp things she'd used to pick the lock, preparing to use them as makeshift shivs (_is there any other type of shiv?_) as she turned to break the grip of the person who had caught her-

Reason two: _TALOS' LEFT TESTICLE IT'S HJAR._

Hjarnagredda was _right there_, why in Oblivion was she _there_, with one hand clenched around Margret's and the other pressed to her lips in a clear gesture to _shut up_. "Hjar?" Margret hissed. "Why-"

That was when reason three hit. "TALOS' LEFT TESTICLE, _WHY ARE YOU NAKED?_" Margret could barely stop herself screaming it.

Hjar blinked, and looked down at herself. "Ah." She muttered. "Right. My bad, see I just finished a transformation and I forgot to-"

"You _forgot?_" Margret was in hysterics, blushing furiously and looking anywhere except the fully naked Breton in _excellent_ physical shape-_NO. Stop it!_ "How do you _forget_ to put clothes on!?"

"I was a wolf for a few hours! Sometimes it takes a while to kick the animal instincts after I'm done!" Hjar was now also blushing, relinquishing Margret to use her arms to cover herself as best she could.

_Right, yeah. A werewolf. She's a werewolf. You're chatting to a naked werewolf while crouched in the house of a silver tycoon who wants you dead, in the arse-end of Skyrim. I just want to go back to Cyrodiil where things make sense..._ "Why are you here?" She finally was able to ask. "What did you _do_ out there? I thought you'd gone for good, then they said you were in prison, I- Everyone's going crazy!"

"Long story." Hjar hissed back. "Some guards took me out the mine to kill me, there were some Forsworn there, there was also another werewolf who just happened to be an assassin. Now everyone's dead and I'm free."

"Oh. Concise."

"Yeah, thanks. So, I was thinking..." Hjar shot her an embarrassed, nervous smile. "This might be coming a little out of left field, but would you like to run away together?"

...Aaaand there was reason four to be startled.

"Excuse me?" Margret gaped.

Hjar's expression immediately changed to that of a kicked puppy. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything weird or bad by it, I just-"

"Slow down." Margret pushed past the nudity to put a hand on Hjar's shoulder, making the woman flinch. "Just...explain? _Please?_"

"Okay so." Hjar gulped. "I'd really like to get out of this city, and by 'really like' I mean I have a week before I get hunted down by assassins. Also long story. But everything in here's about to blow up, Madanach's planning something, Thonar wants me dead, and I've only managed to get worse at controlling my wolf since I last saw you. So I just..." she let out what sounded like a whine, though that might just be Margret subconsciously looking for werewolf traits. "I just want to get _away_. It was stupid for me to come here in the first place. All I've done is hurt more people and escalate things further. The only reason I came back was to save you."

"You..._me?_" Margret's heart fluttered. "But why? I'm a spy! You don't even know me, I don't even know you, and you broke into a city that wants you dead to save me?"

"Well...aye." Hjar smiled, shrugging. "I have no idea who I am or what I want right now, but the one thing I'm certain about is that I like you. So...want to run away with me?"

...A naked murderer werewolf with dubious allegiances and an unstable psyche had just asked Margret to elope with her. And the redhead had never wanted to say yes to anything more in her entire life.

However...

"Hjar, I...I can't." She winced, watching Hjar's face fall. "I want to, I'm so grateful that you've tried so hard for me, but I can't leave yet. I still have a mission."

"You-" Hjar whined. "Is that not completely botched at this point?"

"No, Hjar, you don't understand. This city is _crazy_." Margret emphasised.

"Yes! I know!" Hjar pointed out.

"No, _crazy_ crazy. I think Thonar is working with the Thalmor! I need to figure out what's going on between the Silver-Bloods and the elves, if the Aldmeri have their fingers in one of Skyrim's richest exports then everyone is in big trouble. I need evidence, either from Thonar or the elves, and I'm still supposed to try and get the deed to the mine. I was going to leave when I thought it was just a Forsworn uprising, but now? Unless law and order comes crashing down completely I _have_ to stay in the city."

Hjar growled and turned away, before taking a deep breath. Then said, "So if I can find the Thalmor's diary I can get you out?"

"_Hjar!_" Margret was about to protest, but then Hjar's head snapped up, looking to the corridor behind her.

"People are coming." The werewolf hissed.

Margret winced. Damnit, she'd wasted her whole opportunity talking. "Just...get out of here. Don't you _dare_ get yourself killed on my account, you hear me?"

"I won't." Hjar started backing up along the corridor. "Margret, I...if I can't pull this off by the end of the week, I'll have to leave."

"If and when I get out, I'll be in Dragon's Bridge." Margret told her. "Will you be able to find me?"

"Of course I will." Despite everything, Hjar smiled. "I know what you smell like."

"...That was-"

"A little weird, yeah, I noticed the moment it came out of my mouth-"

"Just _go!_"

Hjar bolted out of the house. Margret bolted back to her room. When guards finally came in to check on her a few minutes later, they found her lying on her bed with a book open, boredly asking what was going on. They didn't notice how much she was shaking.

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen didn't waste any time after Mercer fell, just started sprinting towards the location she thought the bow had been fired from._ If Karliah poisoned the arrow, he may already be dead. If L'laarzen tries to move him, Karliah will shoot her. If L'laarzen hides, Karliah will likely take the time to _ensure_ Mercer is dead. The best bet is to keep her attention and track her down._

"My quarrel is not with you, thief!" A woman's voice called out, making that second part a lot easier. "Surrender or leave, you will not be harmed!"

L'laarzen quietly scoffed. She kept moving, strafing between pillars as quickly and quietly as she could.

"Mercer Frey is lying to you!" Karliah called, voice full of anger. "He's a traitor to the guild! Stop, and I can explain!"

_Stop, and you shall kill L'laarzen. Honestly, do you think her stupid?_

The voice came from a different place to the last time, Karliah had moved. L'laarzen quickly calculated her speed and direction, extrapolated where she was likely to go, and ran, pushing herself to the closest pillar to Karliah's location. She finally got a glimpse of the figure wielding the bow-

Just in time for an arrow to bury itself into her shoulder. She hissed and threw herself behind the pillar, frantically twisting her head to either side to see if Karliah attempted a flanking manoeuvre. High on adrenaline and breathing almost as quickly as she was thinking, L'laarzen brought one hand up and yanked the arrow out of her shoulder, eliciting another hiss from her. Normally that would be a terrible idea, but if the arrow was poisoned she couldn't risk leaving it in a second longer than necessary. Her other arm came up to the wound and fired a simple healing spell at it, not able to repair the puncture but at least clotting the wound and stopping the bleeding.

"I'm warning you." Karliah spoke up. The woman had backed herself into a corner, but in doing so had granted herself a perfect view of the pillar L'laarzen hid behind. "I've got no problem seriously hurting or killing you in order to bring him down. Come out with your hands in the air."

_If Khajiit moves, she takes another arrow. _"Do you expect Khajiit to sell out her allies at the first sign of threat?" L'laarzen finally spoke up, buying herself time.

"Pretty much." Karliah responded. "There's no honour amongst theives anymore."

Golden eyes narrowed, and sharp teeth grinned. "Perhaps. But L'laarzen is not a thief. She is a hairdresser."

Gripping the arrow covered in her blood, she threw it left, then ran right.

Karliah's next shot split the shaft of L'laarzen's arrow in two, but she didn't have time to knock another before L'laarzen collided into her.

A bash from the bow was blocked with L'laarzen's forearms, before she launched a strike at Karliah's face. The thief ducked, and L'laarzen pivoted, swinging her claws horizontally to try and cut into Karliah's chest, but the Dunmer jumped, fully vaulting over L'laarzen's back and rolling along the floor behind her. L'laarzen just kicked backwards, and caught her in the face with a boot.

She crashed into a pillar, then ducked past L'laarzen's claws slashing at head height, tearing gashes into the stone. The thief sheathed her bow in a fluid movement and pulled a dagger from her hip, but didn't get the chance to use it; L'laarzen was a whirlwind, knocking the blade away with a palm strike to the wrist and digging her claws into Karliah's shoulder.

The Dunmer woman cried out, and L'laarzen grinned. _Revenge for Khajiit's shoulder, traitor._

Karliah counter-grappled well enough, and L'laarzen disengaged, raking claws along a gauntleted forearm for the trouble. She blocked the dagger again, twisted Karliah's wrists in a lock to make her drop it, punched her full in the face to stun her and then viciously stomped down on her inner leg, bucking it.

L'laarzen raised one claw, preparing for a lethal downstroke, as Karliah fell back to one knee-

And vanished.

L'laarzen gaped as the woman stood before her simply disappeared into thin air, not so much as a ripple belying her presence.

_What? Impossible! She drank no potion, cast no spell! And even with illusion magicks, there is always a small outline, my eyes are more than sharp enough to catch it. I've killed the invisible before!_

But she could not find this woman, and blind swings into the air she had once occupied met no resistance. A quick glance showed her that the dagger was gone from the ground too. _Curses. Does she make sound? If I cannot detect her firing I have no chance to-Mercer!_

She took off back to her employer.

Mercer was where she had left him, with still just the one arrow sticking out of him. His eyes were darting about rapidly, but his body was locked in position.

"If you know how she does this, now would be a wonderful time to tell Khajiit." L'laarzen grit out, crouching atop him protectively and scanning the room. _Where, where..._She felt her eyes once more drawn to the body slumped against the pillar. It had to be Gallus, the uniform he wore was identical to Karliah's. Something was bothering her about the corpse, but she couldn't place it.

_Is now really the time? We are being hunted._

"I can loose one arrow before you see me." Called Karliah, voice echoing in an odd way. "Leave, or surrender, or I _will_ bury it in your skull. You have ten seconds."

L'laarzen responded with the worst curse in Dunmeri she knew, and glanced back at the body. _Fine. What's wrong, intuition? Dead, where he's supposed to be dead, disembowelled, yes, so why-_

_Disembowelled._

L'laarzen looked down at Mercer, and frowned. "Wait. You said Karliah _shot_-"

That was as far as she got. Mercer's arm darted out and grabbed her about the throat. She gasped at his strength as he groggily stood to his feet, dragging her up with him and holding her aloft. "Y'know..." he worked his jaw. "You...are far too clever for your own good, _hairdresser_." He released her, and then kicked her in the stomach.

The force behind it was not 'staggering'. It was sufficient to throw her metres away from him, cracking her back against a pillar and making her gasp in pain and surprise. He...he had broken ribs. He had kicked her and it had broken ribs. What?

There came a Dunmeri curse almost as bad as L'laarzen's own from behind her, and an arrow went flying past her towards Mercer, but he casually leaned past it. "Well would you look at that, Karliah. Your plans have failed again."

"How?" The woman shouted. She reappeared, crouching beside L'laarzen with another arrow knocked. "That poison should have left you incapacitated for days!"

"How unfortunate for you, my dear." Mercer grinned, for the first time drawing his sword from its sheath. "Don't worry too much about it. There's a lot of misfortune about, or so I hear."

"_You_ killed Gallus." L'laarzen gasped out, trying to stumble to her feet. Breathing was hard, and she was bleeding from places she'd much rather not be. "You killed him and took his place."

"Yes, thanks, let's not state the obvious now." He rolled his eyes. "Didn't Karliah just tell you? There's no honour amongst thieves."

"We can take him." L'laarzen hissed to Karliah, flexing her claws. "If you can-"

"No. We can't." Karliah's eyes (purple, how unique) were sharp.

"Khajiit can still fight."

"Then Khajiit had better be able to run." The thief looked up at Mercer, who was slowly approaching them. "I'll never stop trying, Mercer. I will destroy you."

"Oh, I've already resigned myself to having to kill you." He agreed, sighing at the inconvenience. "Could you do me a favour and make that happen today?"

Karliah tilted her head, as if thinking about it. "...No."

She aimed her bow up at the ceiling, and fired.

L'laarzen couldn't make out exactly what it struck, but the result was an explosion. The entire room rumbled, and the roof began to collapse. L'laarzen and Karliah both stumbled backwards, and Mercer (glaring at them both) did the same, retreating back through the corridor as the ceiling and walls began to fall in, leaving gaping holes in the infrastucture. The outside world became visible.

"_Run!_" Karliah shouted, over the crashing and the sound of the wind that was now pouring in. "We can lose him in the storm!"

L'laarzen didn't need telling twice.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

The College's walls shook once more, and Xander stumbled down into the hall of the Elements not two steps behind Savos Aren.

"Archmage! Thank the Divines you're here!" Mirabelle Ervine was the first thing he noticed upon leaving the spiral staircase. The second was the GIANT TRANSLUCENT BLUE BARRIER blocking their way to the Eye, which itself was spinning at a massively accelerated rate and flickering with electricity.

"Report!" Savos snapped, looking through the barrier, "What in the name of Shalidor is happening in there?"

"We don't know!" Mirabelle shouted. Shouting was necessary, for a loud drone was emanating from within the room along with the crackle of electricity. "Ancano was in there casting spells at it while all the masters were out of the room! Apprentices came to notify me and now _this!_"

"_Who the heck is Ancano?_" Xander shouted, but was cut off by another explosion of sound from within the room. A dozen or so bolts of energy blasted out from the eye, flying out in all directions. Some remained in the room, but many flew out the windows of the hall, smashing through the glass in their way and vanishing into the snowstorm outside. One even flew right past them, ignoring the barrier entirely and nearly clipping Xander's head as it rocketed through the doors and out into the courtyard.

Savos narrowed his eyes. "Alright, that's it. I want this barrier down _now_. We need to get in there."

"Try lightning! Xander advised. "Tolfdir used it against a similar shield in the cave, it worked!"

The two mages glanced at each other, then nodded, and then raised their arms at the shield, and twin blasts of lightning tore from their fingers against it's surface.

_Ohoho, damn. That's adept, if not expert level magic. Okay, well, at least I have these two here to do all the heavy lifting._ It was at this point that Xander noticed with rising concern that he was almost completely unarmed. Beside the dagger at his hip, he had nothing; no sword, no staves, and his scroll bracer was empty. He hadn't felt this naked since...well, that one time the werewolf lady had caught him naked. Grimacing, he tried to conjure up a shock spell in his hands. _Wait, no, you idiot! You want them to see you using that? They'll realise!_ He let the light fade.

"Not feel like helping, apprentice?" Savos snapped at him, maintaining his own assault.

"His magicka reserves will be far smaller than ours, Aren, let him conserve them!" Mirabelle defended him, shooting him a reassuring look. The barrier faded, weakening, before eventually the lightning hit nothing but air. "He may need them for this."

"Sensible. Come, with me." Savos stalked through the aperture, not dropping the spells from his arms, and Xander and Mirabelle followed him.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"What in Julianos' name is going on in there?" Cassia shouted from the bridge to the college of Winterhold, hearing the rumblings coming from the ancient castle. She was about start walking right back to it when Dulurza grabbed her by the hood of her mage robes. "None of our damn business is what. Come on, we're leaving."

"What?" Cassia whirled around. She seemed remarkably unintimidated by the fact that Dulurza had almost two feet on her. "You might not know much magic missus Orc, but that there is not normal!"

"Then we let the magic people deal with the magic and we get ourselves _far_ out of the way." Dulurza clamped a hand firmly on Cassia's shoulder and started moving her along the bridge. "You were the one who said we had to leave immediately, so let's leave immediately, come on."

Seriously, Dulurza had expected the girl to want to wait until the snow cleared, if she even agreed. But the moment the phrase "job for the Jarl of Solitude" had been uttered, Cassia had stood up, demanded they get going as fast as possible, and started packing her things.

"Okay, I _did_ say that," Cassia began, "but I wasn't expecting there to be-"

She was silenced by a strange, broken, chittering sound. Dulurza looked up and gaped as a multitude of small blue lights went flying out from the College's main hall, some spinning off into the snow while others beelined for the city of Winterhold. One of them crashed down onto the walkway just beside the two of them, making more chittering noises. It moved erratically, ramming itself into the floor and walls before slipping over towards them.

Dulurza put a hand on her axe, but wasn't as fast as Cassia, who shrieked loudly and brought her hands together, flinging a great ball of fire at the thing. The attack collided with it and sent it careening backwards, trailing flecks of light.

"What is that thing?" Dulurza shouted.

"I don't know!" Cassia replied, suddenly seeming very intent on moving behind the six feet of Orsimer armour. "I've never seen anything like it before!"

"Okay, how do we respond to new things?"

"Kill it! Kill it with fire!"

"Well I can tell you're an Imperial!" The anomaly started to fly back at them, and Dulurza stalked towards it. Cassia threw another fireball, but it went wide, and Dulurza reached out to try and grab it about its glowing blue tail.

That was a mistake. It was like trying to grab a molten rod of metal, she cried out as the energy started melting through her gauntlet and burning her palm. She yanked her hand back, then used the other to unsheathe her axe and swing it down at the anomaly with a roar. The metal bit deep into it's form, and Dulurza carried through with her swing until she was pinning it against the floor.

"Move!" Dulurza pulled her legs back at Cassia's command, just in time for an extended wave of flame to crash into the anomaly. It's chittering increased in pitch into a shriek, but after a few seconds it disintegrated, leaving a myriad of crystal shards spread across the stone.

Dulurza yanked her axe back the moment it was dead, giving the overheated steel a suspicious look. _Don't want to try that again..._ "As I was saying." She grit out. "Now would be a great time to _go_."

"Are you insane?" Cassia shot back. She pointed to the College, "That's bad! People in there are in danger, my _brother_ is in danger-"

"Your brother," Dulurza cut her off, "is more than competent enough to sort whatever's going on in there! He specifically asked me to get you out, so that's what I'm doing!"

Cassia gaped at her. "_Xander_ wants to keep _me_-"

"Yes! So if you don't start walking right now then I swear to Malacath I will pick you up and carry you to Solitude!" _Twig of a girl can't weigh much more than this damn Beacon thing anyway..._

Cassia grimaced. Then looked past Dulurza, out at the city of Winterhold. Dulurza followed her gaze, and saw a number of the lights flying around the city, smashing through walls, harassing guards. As they watched, one building collapsed entirely as a flash of blue light tore two walls down.

Cassia looked back up at her. "Fine." She agreed. "But we're making sure Winterhold is safe first! These hicks aren't dying on my watch!"

"Grr...Fine! Stay behind me!"

The two of them took off running across the bridge, rushing to the defence of the city.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"You meddling Thalmor rat!" Savos roared over the chaos. "Cease this madness at once!"

"Hah! Ahahaha!" The elf (whoever in Oblivion he was) looked like was having the time of his life. A cord of electricity connected him to the Eye, and his entire body was alive with glowing energy. "Pathetic fools! The power to unmake the world at my fingertips, and you-"

He was interrupted by a fireball colliding against his face. Xander winced as the elf staggered backwards, but amazingly he seemed completely unharmed. _There's not a flesh spell known to Man that can tank an attack like that without any burn damage! What is he doing?_

"Do you mind?" the Mer spat. "I wasn't finished!"

"I've heard enough." Savos Aren replied, in an incredibly awesome way. He charged up a pair of lightning bolts and fired them, but another blue shield blossomed in front of the Altmer, negating the attack entirely.

Mirabelle and Savos stepped up together. Xander stepped back.

"Very well! I have heard enough from you as well!" The elf pointed his arm out, and flexed his fingers. Xander's senses had a moment to scream WAY TOO MUCH MAGIC before an enormous wave of power blasted out to hit the two mages. They both brought up wards, but it was blatantly insufficient. The shields shattered like glass under the blue wave, and both Savos and Mirabelle cried out in pain. The difference being that while Savos staggered, then remained standing, Mirabelle was blasted completely off her feet. Her body convulsed, and she collapsed in front of Xander in a heap, twitching in pain and groaning.

_Oh, no. Oh, no no no, not good, not good._

Savos Aren looked back with a harrowed expression. "Just like Atmah and Hafnar..." he exclaimed, barely loud enough for Xander to hear. "I was right. They are linked..."

Before Xander could ask what on Mundus he was talking about, the Thalmor man launched another blast of energy at the Archmage. Savos _caught_ it; not with a ward, some other spell Xander had never seen before. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to stop him being forced backwards step by step by the Eye's power.

"Alexander!" He shouted, turning back to the apprentice who had (until then) been just standing slack-jawed watching events unfold. "Get Mirabelle out of here! I will attempt to contain him!"

"R-Right!" As the battle raged, Xander leaned down and looped one of Mirabelle's arms around his back, trying to lift her back towards the exit and freedom. She was still clearly in the throes of some kind of electrical shock, breathing in gasps with wide, dilated eyes, but was able to put shaky legs underneath herself. It would be too generous to call it walking, but at least Xander didn't have to _drag_ her.

"Come on, come on, almost there." He panted in exertion, staggering towards the doorway to the courtyard-

Only to crash into an invisible wall, and fall flat on his back. Mirabelle crumpled next to him with a cry, and he looked up to see flickers of blue across the doorway.

_Oh no. Oh no no no._

"The shield's back up!" He shouted, at nobody in particular. "We're trapped in!"

"I'M A LITTLE BUSY AT THE MOMENT!" Savos called back, still grappling with unknowable eldritch powers.

"It's-s-s-still weakened from our-r entrance." Mirabelle spoke, haltingly, still recovering. "I-I-I can't form sp-spells. It's-s your turn."

Oh no. "But-"

Despite everything, Mirabelle was able to smile at him. "Don't w-worry. I believe in you."

Xander gulped. Turned to the ward.

He could feel it radiating heat and magicka our at him, could see it being part of a sphere surrounding the room. He understood what it was, knew how it worked, knew how to work his spell to resonate with it and bring it down with maximum efficiency.

There was just one problem.

He faced the door, struggling to focus rather than turn and face the madness occurring behind him, building up energy in his palms the way he'd practiced a thousand times. He ran through the matrices in his head once, twice, then three times; he knew how to do this. He could do this. He inhaled, pointed his arms out, and fired.

Lightning blasted from his fingers. A weak trickle at first, but then more forcefully, purple streams of electricity clashing against the blue swirls. Swirls that began to shudder, eddy, dip...

Xander shuddered. His body burned. His magicka reserves smarted, even after a novice spell for a couple of seconds, _no no no no come on come on you useless creature-_

The streams of electricity began to spurt, and die.

The ward weakened...

Shuddered...

Then began to stabilise.

"More!" Mirabelle shouted. "N-No more conserving power, Xander, just-"

She didn't understand. She still hadn't realised.

"SAVOS!" Xander shouted, desperately, eyes watering. "HELP!"

"ARE YOU MAD?" The Archmage shouted back. The magical storm intensified, his left leg buckled and started to disintegrate. "BRING IT DOWN!"

"I CAN'T!" Xander screamed, tears running down his cheeks.

Savos turned to meet Xander's eyes, the flesh on his face flaking away. For a moment, the Archmage was just confused, and then...

Savos' eyes widened in understanding. "Of course." He muttered, a smile tugging at his mouth. "It's...it's that simple." Then he focused again.

As Xander watched, he yanked one hand away from his defences, corralling all the energy from the Thalmor's storm into his left arm. While that arm began to burn, crack and break, his other reached into his robes, and withdrew the Nordic knocker from where it had been stored. "ALEXANDER!" He shouted. "LABYRINTHIAN! I LEAVE THIS FIGHT TO YOU!" He released the knocker, and it flew through the air, catching Xander in the chest.

Then Savos Aren returned his attention to the Eye. He let out a roar of defiance-

And everything went white.

* * *

**The next chapter will be uploaded tomorrow.**


	18. Fall

**Fall**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Xander wasn't sure if he had been unconscious, or if the ringing in his ears and burning in his irises just made it seem that way. He found which direction seemed like down, and immediately threw up the remnants of his last meal.

"Ugh..." he shivered, and through touch alone tried to pull himself up to his knees. "Savos? Mirabelle? What...ow, my head..." he shook it, as blurry shapes slowly manifested themselves around him. There was a weight in one of his hands; cool metal, large and unwieldy. The doorknocker...he tried to shove it into his tunic.

"Alexander!" He heard a voice, and turned to it. What was probably Mirabelle was slumped against a pillar nearby, also struggling to stand. They were still in the hall of the elements. In the centre...

The Eye wasn't even visible anymore. There was a blue green sphere of energy that dominated almost the entire room, this one completely opaque. Savos and his opponent were nowhere to be seen.

"Are-ugh. Are we safe?" Xander asked.

"I...don't know." Mirabelle replied, standing. "None of this is..." she looked back at the exit. "The way is clear. Savos seems to have...sealed it somehow."

Xander wasn't so sure. It might have been his imagination, but...millimetre by millimetre, was the sphere expanding?

"Yeah." He shook his head. "We should go check everyone's okay. Oh, no, my sister-"

"Wait." She held up a hand, scrutinising him. "Why didn't you bring down the barrier?"

Oh no. "I...we really should go, people might be in danger-" _distract her, distract her long enough to come up with an excuse-_

"No, hold on." She walked towards him. He backed up. "Why? You weren't hit by the Eye, were you-"

"No-" _wait no, that was a good excuse_\- "I mean, maybe, I-"

"Then why did you stop firing? You would have had it if you'd..." she trailed off. "Did you run out of magicka?"

_NO!_

His body's response was visceral, far more so than it had any right to be. He jerked and stumbled back a few steps, adrenaline spiking again, fight or flight response screaming in a way that was _definitely not healthy_. "I...I can explain." _No. No she's realised._

"You weren't doing anything before, so you...why did you run out so fast?" She took in his expression and held her hands out. "Xander, if something's wrong, I need to know-"

"Nothing's wrong!" He yelled, clenching his fists. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me, why does everyone who knows always think that!? I'm not _broken!_ This is just who I am! I can't-" he was shaking. _It's like the Synod. No, no, no it's like the Synod all over again-_

Mirabelle frowned. And then there was a moment, he _saw_ the moment, where she realised. "You mean..." she blinked. "But...but the storm atronach..."

_She knows, and now she'll hate you, and she knows that you lied to her-_

He kept on walking backwards, towards the edge of the room. She kept following, backing him into a corner. _Stop looking at me like that stop looking at me like that please stop looking at me-_

"Xander, I-" her eyes glanced over his head, and widened. "Xander stop-" she darted forwards and reached an arm out for him.

_NO!_ He jumped backwards, legs crashing against the wall of the room while his back hit nothing but air-

_Don't touch me stop looking at me-_ he just wanted to vanish, he just wanted to vanish and fall through the floor and go somewhere that he wouldn't have to face the mortifying horror of her _understanding_ him, he wanted to-

Fade.

"**FEIM!**"

The word tore through his body almost on instinct, different to before, it had _meaning_ now, he _knew_ it, he _was_ it, and everything flashed a silvery blue just as he realised that he had been backing up to a _window_, the window smashed in the chaos, and he was tipping _backwards_-

Mirabelle's outstretched hand phased completely through his own.

Ethereal, Alexander dropped out the window of the College of Winterhold, and plummeted down to the ice below.

* * *

**...Yeah.**

**I _did _set this up, remember. 'Decades of meditation in silence or a bunch of traumatic events', was how I said one could learn to Shout. Not sure if the latter has ever happened in canon (except, you know, to the Dragonborn) but I'm basically working with it being the same as inner peace from Kung Fu Panda. Years of meditation, or one really, really bad day. **

**This was Xander's really bad day.**

**Next chapter normal time next week. And I'm an asshole, so it's going to be an interlude.**


	19. Interlude: Delivering News

**Interlude: Delivering News**

* * *

In a manor in the Imperial City, there was nary a flutter as a small, gold-embossed envelope appeared (seemingly from nowhere) on the kitchen counter.

A few seconds later, an Argonian dressed in traditional maid attire turned back to the counter to prepare the evening's vegetables...before pausing, frowning, and looking down at the letter. "Mrs Meteuse?" She called out into the hallway. "Mail here for you!"

"What's the courier doing this late?" A woman's voice called back. "Well, whatever it is, it can wait until after dinner."

"Of course, ma'am." The Argonian looked closer at the letter, then her eyed widened. "Actually, you might want to read this one now!"

The voice scoffed. "Preens-Her-Scales, I am halfway through my first wine on a Fredas evening. You _know_ what mood I'm in. I'm sure it can wait!"

"Yes, only...it's from Alexander!"

There was a pause.

Then a shrieked "_WHAT?_" that could be heard by the dogs outside, followed by what sounded like someone falling out of their chair.

* * *

Mirabelle Ervine was having a really, really bad day.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" She shouted, storming through the central courtyard and struggling to be heard over the wind. "ALL TEACHERS, STUDENTS, EVERYONE! EVACUATE THE COLLEGE!"

She spotted a familiar mop of grey hair among the chaos and sighed in relief. "Tolfdir, thank the Divines. What's going on out here?"

"Mirabelle! Thank the Nine!" He jogged over to her. "These strange magical anomalies were attacking Winterhold!"

_Oh no._ "Are they still there? Did anyone die?" She pressed.

"All of them are destroyed now, with the help of some of the guards and a couple of outsiders. We're not sure yet about the casualties." He looked past her, to the door to the Hall of the Elements. "What happened in there? Where is Archmage Aren?"

Mirabelle's breath hitched. "Savos...Savos is dead." She managed. "And Alexander is..." wide eyes, ghostly form, legs tumbling upwards as he fell backwards- "gone. Ancano was doing something to the eye, it-" they were interrupted by a rumbling noise. They and everyone else in the courtyard stumbled as the ground shook beneath them.

"The Archmage is dead? I...oh dear." Tolfdir suddenly looked much older. "We should gather the masters. Prepare, move in together and-"

"_No!_" Mirabelle shouted, swiping her arm through the air. "We-Tolfdir, we can't fight what's in there. It's getting stronger by the minute, I was barely able to free myself from the last ward that tried to block me in. Ancano-I-" She shut her blabbering mouth, and tried to still her shaking hands. _Come on, woman, focus._ Watching Savos' sacrifice, watching Xander fall...it had taken a toll on her.

"We need to get out." She told him. "Get everyone out of the College. No stopping to try and save one precious experiment or another, we retreat into Winterhold proper. Further, if we have to. Try and come up with a plan."

The fact that there _was_ a plan, and that the only way to complete it might be lying at the bottom of the Sea of Ghosts, laid heavy on her mind.

Tolfdir took in her expression, and nodded. "I'll check through Attainment, and send someone through Countenance. Though I doubt anyone was able to sleep through this...You'll need to lead everyone out here to Winterhold, explain things to Korir. Can you do that?"

Mirabelle grit her teeth. _Damnit. I'm not built to lead..._

But people were in danger. "I can." She nodded, before walking out into the centre of the courtyard, hoisting herself up onto the pedestal of Shalidor's statue. "ATTENTION! ALL APPRENTICES, TEACHERS! EVERYONE MAKE THEIR WAY ACROSS THE BRIDGE AND INTO WINTERHOLD!" The wind staggered her briefly, and she shivered. "AND FOR THE LOVE OF WHOEVER YOU WORSHIP, DON'T YOU _DARE_ FALL OFF!"

* * *

"What are you hiding, priest?" Throngvor Silver-Blood demanded, staring down brother Verulus. "Why do you deny us access to our honoured dead?"

"There is nothing to hide." The man protested, firmly. "You are simply not allowed in. I am certain that this matter will be resolved soon."

"What matter?" Throngvor glared at him. "You lock the entire city out of the mausoleum and offer nothing but excuses! If I find out that you have mishandled the remains of my ancestors-"

"Careful, silver-monger." Verulus' gaze sharpened. "Do not presume to accuse Arkay's faithful of-" his gaze flickered past Throngvor's own, and his scowl deepened. "Oh, wonderful..."

Throngvor turned, and almost groaned out loud.

"Ah, just the _Man_ I was hoping to find." Ondolemar, head Thalmor agent in Markarth, strutted up to them like he owned the place. This was probably because he thought he did own the place, and the way he stressed the word 'Man' only lent more credence to the thought.

"Ondolemar." Verulus nodded to the elf with about as little respect as one could offer. "Something I can do for you? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of interring any of your fellows yet."

_Pleasure? Ohoho._ Throngvor backed up until he was stood beside Verulus, as Ondolemar smoothly replied "No, rest assured my brethren will not desire to be interred in..._this_ mausoleum." The disgust was as plain in his voice as his smirk was on his face. "In fact, that's why I'm here. I would like to ensure that this 'Hall of the Dead' is up to standards."

"_Standards?_" Verulus repeated, outrage plain on his face. "What on Mundus are you talking about?"

"Well, it's common knowledge that with the ridiculous assertions of a 'ninth Divine', you Men's respect for the true Eight has...suffered, somewhat." Ondolemar smiled in an incredibly punchable manner. "If you are a true servant of Arkay, you must surely want to do everything in your power to ensure your deity is properly revered."

Verulus genuinely looked like he was about to toss a right hook at the elf's face, and Throngvor decided now was the time to intervene. The irony that he was suddenly on the side of the man he'd been threatening minutes ago wasn't lost on him. _Madness. Everything in this city is so damn complicated nowadays..._

"Hey. Watch yourself." He interposed himself between the two, staring down (_Yes! Still taller!_) at the Thalmor agent. "I hardly think it's the place of the Aldmeri government's _lapdog_ to be accusing Arkay's faithful."

Ondolemar's eyes narrowed. "Watch your words, Nord." He uttered.

"Oh, I'm watching them." Throngvor crossed his arms. "I know exactly what your business is. Going after those who worship Talos is one thing, but I'm well within my rights to call you a bastard to your face. Bastard."

"He is right." Verulus said, quietly, from behind.

Ondolemar looked enraged for a moment, but quickly schooled his expression back into a calm one. "You're quite right about one thing. Talos _is_ my business." He spread his arms. "And that is the purpose of my presence here. Who knows how many of these natives are buried in an improper fashion? With rites and blessings of their false god? We will have to search the tomb for heretical artefacts, and decide what to do with those bodies which have been interred improperly-"

"You would defile the dead? For your twisted campaign?" Throngvor clenched his fists. "Our ancestors have already passed on. What harm could they possibly do you?"

Verulus stepped up beside Throngvor. "In either case, the point is moot. The Hall of the Dead is closed at present, and none are permitted to enter."

"Unfortunate." Ondolemar tutted. "But I am afraid I will have to insist."

"Insist all you like." Verulus stated, eyes hard. "The answer is no."

Throngvor tracked his eyes past Ondolemar, to where two other Thalmor soldiers were loitering suspiciously closely.

_Are we doing this now? Alright then. I'm quite happy to do this now._

His arms uncrossed, and one fell to the blade at his hip.

Ondolemar's fingers twitched.

Then Throngvor saw another figure walking up, and made himself relax. "Brother." He called over Ondolemar's head. "Good to see you, what brings you to Understone Keep?"

"Throngvor, good to see you too." Thonar Silver-Blood walked up, nodding courteously to Verulus. "And the answer, as always, is business."

Ondolemar turned around to face Thonar, tilting his head. "Oh? Your business? Or somebody else's?"

"In this city, everyone's business is my business." Thonar replied, with his customary unfaltering calm. (Their father had always said that while Throngvor had a steel will, Thonar had a silver tongue.) "Speaking of which, Ondolemar. Would you mind if I took up a few minutes of your time? There are some updates with regards to _our_ business I believe you should be illuminated on."

Throngvor tilted his head, frowning. _What business do you have with the elves, brother?_

More confusing was that it seemed to work. Ondolemar stood still for a few seconds, then glanced back at Verulus and said "Congratulations, priest, you may put this off for another day." He began walking towards Thonar, who also started walking, and then Ondolemar flicked a finger and the other Thalmor nearby started walking too, and then they were all walking together in a very impressive formation. Most importantly, they were walking _away_.

_Hmph. Good save, Thonar. But we're going to have to talk about this later..._

He turned back to Verulus (who had clearly never been in a fight in his life and was shaking a little), and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Hey." He said, quietly. "Whatever's wrong in there, you'd better sort it out soon. Divines know what the Elves will do if they find a way to call it sacrilegious."

"They will do _nothing_." Verulus swore. Though the Imperial looked unsettled, his voice was firm. "I may be new to Markarth, new to Skyrim, but I know my duty. If the Thalmor mean to disturb the dead in my care, then they are no servants of the Divines. Eight or Nine."

"Good man." Throngvor paused. "You know, if it's something I can help with, you need only ask. The Silver-Bloods can grant you gold, men, time,whatever you need. I only want my forefathers to have the respect they deserve; I have no quarrel with you."

It was amazing, how having a common enemy made it so much easier to find common ground. Verulus looked him in the eye a moment, then glanced around to check that they were alone. "You must keep this quiet." He warned. "The last thing we need is a panic."

"I worship Talos in a city where it's illegal." Throngvor replied, frankly. "I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Alright." Verulus exhaled. "It's...well, at first I worried it was skeevers, but the marks just aren't right. Something- no. _Someone_. Is _eating_ the bodies."

* * *

In a cabin on a ship moored in Solitude harbour, there was a flutter as a small, gold-embossed envelope appeared in midair.

A split second afterwards, it was pinned to the wall by a ghostly purple arrow.

The air in the corner of the room rippled, and a woman with long dark hair appeared, crouched up on a table with a similarly ghostly bow in her hands. She released the bow, letting it vanish, before casting upwards of a dozen complicated spells on the room around her. After they all revealed absolutely nothing in the room (besides a light trace of residual magic leading from the door to the letter's present location), she stood upright, dropped to the floor and walked over to the letter, scrutinising it carefully.

She read the front of the envelope, and hummed. "My my, Alexander. Either your handwriting's gotten a lot better, or..."

Outside, walking very quickly across the surface of the water, Quaranir was feeling a little shaky. "She almost shot me..." he muttered.

* * *

The sun had set, yet Mor Khazgor remained alert, alive, awake, and enthusiastic. The sound of steel on steel (or more often, Orichalcum on Orichalcum) echoed through the air, ringing out from men and women sparring in the courtyard and smiths hard at work in the forge. Orcs continued to hurry about, moving supplies, shouting orders. The great bonfire in the centre of the camp was lit, and the carcasses of two cows were being roasted there and handed out to the Orcs gathered around it, drinking and telling stories.

Oh, the camp would sleep eventually, but nights seemed to be getting shorter and shorter these days. This was in spite of specific instructions from the chief that they remember to get their rest, mind you; the people just couldn't help themselves.

Excitement was in the air. How could it not be, with a war brewing?

"Here you are." Sharamph put two small vials down on her table, sliding them over to Borgakh the Steel Heart. "Tell your father not to drink them so damn quickly this time. Fill the cap of the vial with it, pour it into his ale, and drink it before bed. That's more than enough to have him out fast."

"Aye. Thanks, I'll tell him." Borgakh scooped the potions with a sigh. "We're planning an invasion, and what am I doing? Delivering the chief his medicine."

"Oh, hush you." Sharamph swung her fist round and cuffed Borgakh about the skull, meriting a laugh. "Division of labour, girl. You're the only one around here I could trust to bring these up to him without messing up somehow. Most of these meatheads would probably try and take a pickaxe to them..."

"Hmph. If I'm so trustworthy, why's Dulurza the one to go on the prestigious mission..." Borgakh regretted saying it the moment it was out. _Damnit. Apologies Malacath, now I'm whining to my elders about my insecurities like I'm some teenage girl again..._

Sharamph rolled here eyes, but kindly didn't launch into a tirade at Borgakh's expense. Instead, she leaned in. "You want to know why your father _really_ picked Dulurza?"

_Wait, she knows?_ Borgakh leaned in too. "Aye. Why?"

"It's simple, really." Sharamph whispered. "She's prettier than you."

"..._WHAT?_" The moment it registered, Borgakh recoiled, glaring at Sharamph. "What in the name of-"

"Oh, calm yourself granddaughter." The wise-woman waved her arm, leaning back against the wall of her hut. "You've been wandering around the camp sulking for weeks now. Maybe it _is_ what you think. Your sister was picked because she's been beating you in spars on the regular for the last half a year."

Borgakh grimaced, as Sharamph continued. "But you're his eldest daughter. There's a good chance he just didn't want to risk your life doing it."

Borgakh wrinkled her nose. "Don't like that explanation either. I'm no precious flower who can't face danger. And besides, if I found out father didn't care about Dulurza as much as me, I'd have some _words_ for him."

"Then go have words!" Sharamph shrugged. "Moping around stuck in your thoughts isn't going to help you. If you want to know why he sent your sister into Solitude, go ask him. Worst he can do is tell you to go milk a mammoth, and then you know it's _him _who's too scared to tell you. I raised him better than that, I should hope."

"Hm. Aaight." Borgakh nodded. It was an incredibly simple solution, but...well. She was an Orc, for Malacath's sake. _Short fight, woman. Focus._ "Thanks for your advice. I'll ask him when I bring these in tomorrow morning."

"Why wait? Go now." Sharamph shooed her. "He could use a draught tonight, if he's not out already, and there's no point putting your questions off."

"He's asked not to be disturbed..." Borgakh trailed off, awkwardly.

"Well go in anyway!" Sharamph huffed. "And tell him I sent you. I don't care if he's the chief, he'll do what his mother says. I've got far too many embarrassing stories about him for him to argue."

Borgakh laughed, said her goodbyes, and walked up towards the chief's longhut.

The throngs had left the house a wide berth; previous events had proven that when Larak demanded privacy, he took that demand seriously. Not even his wives were allowed in._ He's been doing it more and more lately, stress must be getting to him. Maybe one of the other orcs will pick up on it and challenge him...heh. That'd be fun to see._

She made sure there was no hesitation in her steps as she walked up to the door, bringing up her knuckles to rap on the wood.

She paused, however, when she heard voices from inside.

"...this I hear about a _vampire_, anyway?" Larak's voice, raised and angry, was just audible through the door. "Why weren't we told?"

The next voice was much calmer, Borgakh had to put her ear to the door to make out the words. "...of contingency. We have many fingers in many pies. We needed an additional option in case your efforts failed." _That's not an Orc. Sounds more like a...what on Mundus..._

"You don't trust the might of Mor Khazgor?" Larak's voice replied. "How many others are there waiting for their shot at the city?"

"I assure you that nobody else is in your way. Your agent in Solitude has taken care of that. She is awfully inquisitive, from what we've seen, stopped Stentor's plan right in it's tracks." The stranger's voice replied, offhandedly. "Convenient for us, actually. Leaves us with no loose ends."

"And what would have happened if she had failed, huh? If my tribe had become a loose end?"

"The same thing that would happen if you backed out now." The voice turned sharp. "You have our attention now, chieftain. You seem to believe you have the strength to take Skyrim's capital, and perhaps you are right, but I assure you. Your strength means nothing next to _our_ power."

"Then why are we doing it for you?" Larak growled.

Borgakh realised that she had crouched down next to the keyhole, pressing her ear against it to try and hear more. She shifted in place, trying to get a better position.

"For the same reason anyone uses a catspaw." The stranger's voice continued. "We-"

Borgakh's leg slipped. She caught herself, but in doing so dropped most of her weight onto the door, causing it to rattle in its holdings. The voices inside cut off immediately.

_Oh, son of a-_

"Who is that?" Larak's voice echoed. "I demand you come out at once!"

Adrenaline spiking, it took Borgakh less than a second to straighten to her full height, recover her facial expression, and then pull open the door.

"Just me!" She replied, meeting his gaze for the absolute minimum amount of time required to avoid showing fear before immediately casting her gaze across the hall. It was...empty? _But...there was someone taking just a moment ago. They couldn't have escaped already, surely?_

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Larak snarled, storming up to her. "I specifically ordered not to be disturbed!"

She looked up at him, unflinching even as he loomed over her. Showing fear, she knew, would only make things worse. "Sharamph sent me up to deliver these." She held up the sleeping draughts. "If you have a problem, you can take it up with her."

"Oh, I just might." He snatched them from her hands, giving her another glare before walking back over to his chair. "I thought you knew better than to disobey my orders, daughter."

"Chief," she couldn't help but ask, "Was there someone here just now? I thought I heard-"

His head snapped back up to hers, and she shut her mouth.

"No." He stated. "You must have been mistaken. Do you want me to assume that you go around trespassing and hearing voices?"

"No, father." Borgakh hung her head.

"Then leave, now. Go to bed, Borgakh. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Aye, father." She nodded, fists clenched, and turned towards the door.

She was halfway through it when she remembered what she'd gone up to ask in the first place. But by that point, she figured it probably wasn't the best time.

Not to mention, she had something else to capture her attention. Illuminated in the light of the longhouse's fire, just before she closed the door, she could see an odd set of footprints heading out into the camp. Odd because they were far too small to be from her, Larak, or any Orc in the camp. And more importantly, odd because someone would have had to walk right past her to leave them, _without_ her being able to see them.

_Father...what have you gotten caught up in?_

* * *

Mercer Frey had expected there to be trouble, returning to the Thieves Guild.

He had been absolutely furious, watching the rocks fall in front of him as Karliah escaped _again_ from his blade, and neither the snowstorm raging around Winterhold nor the long ride back to Riften had diminished that rage. Instead, thoughts of all the nonsense he would have to put up with had circled through his head like moths drawn to the flame of his fury. Primary among those being:

_This is getting out of hand. Now there are _two _of them!_

Two people he had betrayed, now dead-set on ruining his day. He'd made a promise to himself back when he was green that he still held to; 'If you're going to double-cross someone, make sure that they and anyone who might be close to them are dead'. It had served him well for years, yet now for the second time he'd gone and messed it up. This was going to cost him so much gold, he could practically feel it slipping through his fingers. More assassination attempts, more sabotage, more 'bad luck' that he knew _had_ to be a product of Karliah's direct interference.

And most worryingly, he would have to _explain_ things, to both the guild and to Maven. That could be awkward; if he'd simply killed the cat he could have blamed the death on Karliah no problem. But now that L'laarzen was working against him, there was a good chance that his agents would encounter her again. He needed an excuse for her to have turned, and he knew whatever it was was going to be flimsy, given that this was the second time an ally had left with him on a mysterious mission and then decided to try and kill him.

But he'd come up with a story on the way back, made sure it was convincing enough. He only needed it to last a few days, anyway. Long enough for him to tie up all the loose ends he had in Riften, loot his own house for everything he'd left in there, and hi-tail it out of the city. Once he got the Eyes...well, they could think whatever they liked about him. He'd be out of Skyrim faster than you could say 'Nightingale'.

In short, he'd expected there to be trouble, but been willing to deal with it.

He hadn't been expecting...this.

"What do you mean L'laarzen has betrayed us?" Brynjolf demanded, loudly.

"I mean what I said. L'laarzen has betrayed us." Mercer replied, gravely.

"...No she didn't."

Mercer blinked. "What? Yes she did."

"No she didn't."

"Yes she did!"

"Not a chance!" Brynjolf looked shocked. "L'laarzen? She's too nice!"

Delvin Mallory, stood nearby, perked up. "Wait, what's he saying?"

"He's saying L'laarzen betrayed us!"

"What? No way! She's too nice!"

"That's what I said!"

Mercer looked between them, flabbergasted. "I assure you both that she _did_. I have the scars to prove it." And he did, conveniently. The animal had scratched up his arm when he had grabbed her about the throat, leaving markings that he had deliberately not healed. "I have no idea what Karliah offered to her, but I can only imagine it was gold. From the day I met that Khajiit I knew she was too ambitious for her own-"

"MERCER!" He turned around to see Sapphire striding towards him, fists clenched.

"You will not believe the rumours I'm hearing." She said, glaring. "I was hoping you could clear them up. Galathil told me something about L'laarzen turning against the guild? Nothing more than ridiculous speculation, I'm sure."

"No, it's true." Mercer replied, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, I thought so." She crossed her arms. "What in Oblivion did you _do_? Is there any proof?"

"I'd say that her trying to kill me is pretty good proof, yes!" He shot back, angrily.

"I...Theres no way." Sapphire shook her head. "She's too nice!"

"Thats what we said!" Brynjolf and Delvin chorused.

"Besides, she can't leave the guild yet." Sapphire insisted. "Firstly, I still need to tell her my real name. Secondly-" She reached up to pull some of her hair back, exposing how uneven it was, "She never finished my haircut! It was bad enough having to wait until she got back from Winterhold! _Look _at this!"

That was when another voice piped up from the corner of the cistern. "Hold on, what's happened?" Rune shouted, just walking in from the secret entrance.

"L'laarzen attacked Mercer!" Brynjolf shouted back to him.

"She did?" Rune looked between them all. "Oh, okay. So are we scragging him now or what?"

"..._What?_" Mercer gaped at him.

"Well, L'laarzen attacked you." Rune tilted his head. "I assume that means you've done something bad, right? Guys, I'll distract him, if Brynjolf can get him in a headlock-"

"SHE is the one who turned against US!" Mercer felt his eyebrow twitching violently.

"She did?" Rune blinked. "But...She's too nice!"

"That's what _we_-"

"_DON'T_ SAY IT!" Mercer snapped at the rest of them.

"But that's just...come on, Mercer, surely it's more complicated than that." Brynjolf pleaded. "That lass just isn't the type to-"

"Isn't she?" Mercer snapped at him. "How do you know?"

He turned around, looking each of them in the eye. "How long have you all actually known her, huh? How many times have you actually talked? She's been here for what, a few weeks? And look at you all, wrapped around her claws already! Did none of you ever ask yourselves where she came from? Why nobody has ever heard of her, where she learned to be as good a thief as any one of you useless louts? Did you all really think it was a _hair _parlour?"

Because Mercer had wondered. And digging into her had left him with more questions than answers. He spread his arms. "She played us! It's that simple. Played nice, worked her way into our good graces with honeyed words and an innocent smile, proved herself invaluable. And all the while, she was just waiting for a chance to turn on us and take everything." He narrowed his eyes, looking down. "It was an act. From the start, I _knew_ something was up. Everything she said, everything she did, it was just a little too...perfect." Too nice, just like they'd all said. The hairdresser, kind to everyone, proud of her skill and more than willing to gossip, yet embarrassed about all the other little tricks she had no damn explanation for. A wonderful concept, nuanced, interesting. And false. The L'laarzen they knew hadn't been a person. She had been a _character_. A character he'd been able to make her break.

_Hairdressers don't fight on even footing with Nightingales. And that look in her eyes when she finally put together what I did..._

"Let this be a lesson to all of you." Mercer warned them. "The only thing you can trust in is gold. The next time you see her, I have no doubt she'll make excuses. She'll have explanations, and they might even make perfect sense. But if you don't put a dagger through her ribs first...then she'll do it to you."

Another sweeping glance, and this time none of them were willing to meet his eyes. _Good_. "I'm going up to Riftweald." He told them. "Get back to your business, and make sure there are lookouts in every entrance to this city. If either her or Karliah come back here, I want to know about it."

He turned, and started walking away.

_Trouble, trouble, and trouble some more..._

But it would all be worth it. Soon, it would-

"MERCER!" Maven Black-Briar stormed through the door to the Ragged Flagon. "I hear that you've attacked my hair stylist! What on Mundus do you think you're doing?"

Mercer Frey grit his teeth.

He didn't think he'd ever hated anyone as much as he hated that blasted cat.

* * *

In an unobtrusive room, in a manor in Skywatch on the Summerset isle, a man with dark hair and a thin beard sat working at his desk. He didn't look up, but he did wave his offhand in the air, saying "Thank you very much. Just leave it on the dresser there, I'll get to it in a moment. If I owe you a tip there's a coin purse by the door, take what you'd like."

The room, to almost any mortal observation of sound, sight, smell or touch, was empty.

Standing in that room, Quaranir was far too afraid to ask _how in Oblivion_ the man knew he was there. He simply let the envelope drop from nerveless fingers where he had been instructed to, and walked very quickly out the door.

Once he was a good few kilometres away, far enough away to feel safe, he finally allowed himself to suck in a very deep breath and sigh.

He'd thought Alexander was the worst.

"What is _wrong_ with this family..."

* * *

**This fic's first interlude! Love those things. None of our main characters appear, but we get to see how the world is unfolding around them. Little glimpses of the other Meteuse family members, as well as the progression of events in Morthal, Solitude and Riften. TlDR; everyone is seriously in need of a relaxation holiday. Nobody in Skyrim is having a great time right now. Well, not nobody; Elenwen's probably torturing someone, so she's having lots of fun.**

**Next Time: Someone shoots a person they've just met, someone breaks and enters, and someone is very, very damn cold.**


	20. Cold

**Last night: Xander fell from the College of Winterhold, L'laarzen escaped Snow Veil Sanctum with Karliah, Dulurza began escorting Cassia to Solitude, and Hjar agreed to help Margret finish her mission.**

**If you read this chapter without listening to Secunda on loop, you're doing yourself a disservice.**

* * *

**Cold**

* * *

**8˂**

The wind was freezing up at the shrine of Azura. The mountaintop offered no protection from the elements, and the storm still roared, buffeting everyone there with ice and stripping all the heat from their bones.

L'laarzen still struggled to breathe. That, or walk, or just exist in any state at all. The encounter in Snow Veil had damaged her ribs, throat, and lungs, and even with the time to tend to her wounds fully she didn't have the expertise to heal them. The desperate retreat through knee-deep snow had done nothing to help her recover, rather, it had left her aching everywhere she wasn't numb.

L'laarzen was hurt, and cold, and tired, and hungry.

It was only the third or fourth worst state she'd ever been in.

"Thank you a thousand times for letting us stay!" She once again insisted, walking up to the Dunmer priest that they had found praying at the shrine. "It is an honour to take refuge under Azurah's watchful gaze!"

"Hm." The Dunmer, Aranea, glanced past L'laarzen to look at her companion. "Your friend does not seem to share your gratitude."

Karliah (who L'laarzen was still far, far from trusting) had scarcely said a word since arriving, standing off to the side and looking out into the snowstorm. "I'm going out scouting!" She called to them. "Make sure we've left no tracks, try and see if he's following us! This statue is massive; stands to reason that if he spots it through the storm, he'll assume we've done the same!"

"Is that wise?" L'laarzen asked, also having to shout over the wind. "Braving this weather may be the death of you! For Khajiit as well, if you are seen!"

"I won't be!" With that incredibly persuasive and verbose argument, Karliah vanished into the snow.

L'laarzen turned back to Aranea with an apologetic smile. "L'laarzen apologises for her. She is...not the most personable of people."

Aranea just shook her head. "Come. Sit by the fire, you must be cold."

L'laarzen was, so she did.

The fire being warm was unsurprising, but it being warm enough to actually help her was a pleasant development, as was the smell of cooking rabbit from the spit above it. Aranea had clearly been here a long time, and while her home was minimalist, it certainly made the most of the space and the natural cover the shrine provided.

L'laarzen gingerly sat down on the rug she was offered, and began the process of cleaning and drying herself by the flames.

"I confess that I know little of your people." Aranea said, sitting across from her. "But my goddess is important to the Khajiit, is she not?"

"Highly." L'laarzen nodded. "So much so that, for all the strange names you give to your gods, Azurah is almost identical." She stretched, enjoying the chance to speak of her home culture to an interested audience. "Fadomai's third litter of children birthed Azurah, Nirni (the world) and the moons. It was Azurah who created the Khajiit; the fastest, cleverest, and most beautiful of all creatures. Not that you are not clever and beautiful yourself, of course."

Aranea chuckled at the compliment, and L'laarzen continued. "She taught us how to understand the moons, and change our shapes, and survive the harsh world we lived in. Had I known such a great shrine to her existed, I would have made pilgrimage here sooner."

"It was my ancestors who built this statue." Aranea explained. "Many of our race hate Azura, for it was she that cursed our ancestors with red eyes and ashen skin. But those that remain faithful recognise that it was our own hubris that brought this change upon us. And it is hard to hate a deity who has had such a great effect on your race's past..." she paused. "It is fascinating, how so many different cultures all have their own stories of the gods. Names, personalities, histories all change. Yet there is always a thread of consistency that binds them all."

L'laarzen nodded enthusiastically. "It _is_ fascinating. If only more of Nirni's children would focus on that thread of common ground, rather than their differences. Tamriel might be a much kinder place."

"Perhaps..." Aranea looked out into the snow. "Yet your friend does not share your views. She serves a different goddess."

"Truly?" L'laarzen hummed. "We have only met recently. She does not strike me as the religious sort..."

"Servants of Nocturnal rarely do." Aranea sighed. "I confess, I would ordinarily be loathe to offer her shelter. You as well, as her associate. You may claim not to be close now, but your paths will only bind you together tighter."

"But..?" L'laarzen flicked her ears.

"But you are needed." Aranea explained. "There is another who journeys to my shrine, this night. His journey is not yet over, and I fear he will not be able to complete it unaided."

"Intriguing..." L'laarzen couldn't help but look back out into the snowstorm for this visitor. "You can see what is to come?"

"Bits and pieces. My sight is never as sharp as I would like."

L'laarzen's eyes narrowed. "Khajiit's vision may also be flawed, but...is that a figure climbing up towards us?"

Aranea followed her gaze, then stood abruptly.

"He's here!" She gasped, running over, and L'laarzen quickly followed.

The figure was small, thin, and even Khajiit eyesight had barely been able to pick it out in the darkness. It stumbled slowly up the hill, arms crossed about its chest in a vain attempt to stave off the cold. _Poor fool. They're hardly dressed for the weather, they must be frozen half to death. Who would be mad enough to try and..._She got close enough to make out facial features, and gasped. "ALEXANDER!"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

**Do you want to kill me?**

_Shut up._

**I wouldn't be surprised if you do. Many people have before you.**

_Shut up._

**Now if you're worried about dying, don't be. If things had gone to that silly vampire's plan, my soul would have consumed yours, but fortunately for both of us that wasn't what happened. At this rate, I'm just going to...bond with you. Intertwine.**

_Shut. Up._

**Come now, it won't be so bad. I'll be the one in control and your consciousness will be locked in some distant corner of the brain, yes, but I promise you'll enjoy it. Our senses will be as one, and I personally intend to be having _lots_ of fun.**

_Shut up shut up shut up..._

**If you're good, I might even acquiesce to some requests from you, every once in a while. You know, a specific food you'd rather eat, a specific zombie you'd like raised, a specific guard you'd rather I bend the mind of. Ooh, I know; I might even let you control the body on occasion, while we're spending time with that wonderful greenskin Thane of yours. **

_What do you-_

**I'm in your thoughts, my dear. I know what you want to do to her~**

_Dulurza would kill me before letting you take control of me._

**Would she? Would she really? If she was stood there with her axe, and we were sat with trembling lip and wide eyes, "Please, Dulurza, I don't want to die-"**

"Shut up!" Elisif spat, fists clenching.

...There was a moment of silence.

"...My Jarl?" Erikur blinked. "If-If you don't like my plan to more effectively tax the docks of the city, feel free to tell me what's wrong with it."

_Oh, for the love of Talos..._

Right. Elisif was in court. She was in court, and everyone was staring her, and she'd missed everything that had been said for about the last-

**Five minutes.**

_Thank you. LEAVE ME ALONE._

**If you'd like, I know all sorts of ways to make your delegates less inclined to question you. Some are magical, some just require proper application of a parsing knife-**

"Apologies, Erikur." Elisif waved her hand, dragging her attention back to the present with significant effort. "Your idea has merit, I would love to discuss it more with you at a later time. But for now, I find that I am growing tired." She stood, prompting the rest of her court (many looking confused) to do the same. "I think we'll cut this short here. You're all quite busy enough as it is."

They took the hint, and all gave their own individual goodbyes as they filed down the steps and out the palace.

Bolgier walked up to her, quietly whispering "Are you alright? Was that..."

"It was." Elisif grit her teeth. "She only gets louder as the days pass."

"That's not good." Styrr, also present, once again felt like stating the absolute bleeding obvious. "It implies her influence is growing..."

_I won't be able to get away with making excuses to the court if this keeps up._

**Parsing knife, my dear. Parsing knife...**

_I will _kill _you._

**Hahahaha! Mmhmmhmmhmm...**Potema's laugh made Elisif feel sick. **You can't! You'll realise that soon enough. But right now, I'll leave you to your fun. Your pet orc has just walked through the door.**

_Dulurza!_ Elisif's head snapped up, she turned towards the stairs leading to her throne-

And promptly got hit full in the chest with a ball of blue fire.

**TALOS' LEFT TESTICLE _OW_-**

_TALOS' LEFT TESTICLE _OW_-_

Elisif shrieked, the flames exploded and washed over her whole body, she felt as though her _soul_ was burning-

Then the moment passed, and she staggered backwards. There was an explosion of movement all around her, and by the time she looked up it was already over. A young woman in mage robes was giving a very pointed look at the axe that was tickling her throat.

Dulurza, holding said axe, looked five seconds away from murder. "If you _ever_" She bit out. "cast a spell on my Jarl without her permission again, I will cleave your head from your body, and to Oblivion with what your brother thinks of it."

The girl did not look impressed. "You remember how I held a flame cloak around us the entire walk here just to keep the snow from getting on my robes? I could incinerate you before your axe landed, _warrior_." She said the word with disdain.

"Don't be so sure. I've killed a vampire, girl." Dulurza warned.

"Oh really? Me too." The girl took in her surroundings, the sighed. "I acknowledge your point, agree to your demands, and concede that you have defeated me in this contest of wills. Now can you move the axe please?"

After a moment, Dulurza huffed and did so. The blade had left a thin red line in the girl's neck, but she rubbed across the wound with a glowing golden thumb; the cut vanished where the digit touched it.

"Right, now then." The girl walked a few steps forward, and curtseyed in a formal Imperial fashion. "Jarl Elisif of Solitude, my name is Cassia Meteuse. It is an honour to be at your service! I absolutely _love_ your palace."

"...You just _shot_ me!" Was all Elisif could think to say. Behind her, Bolgeir was gripping her shoulders tightly.

"I did, yes." Cassia had the decency to look embarrassed. "I was hoping that that blast would immediately exorcise you and then I'd be able to stand there smugly having already succeeded. But no, you're still clearly very much haunted, so it looks like I'll have to _think_ about the problem." She squinted, looking Elisif up and down in a way that made her feel a little uncomfortable. "Oh, that is _weird_. It's bound itself really tightly to you. I don't really know of a way to free you short of setting you on fire."

"Please do not set her on fire." Dulurza grit out.

**Do not let her set us on fire.**

"No, yes, please don't set me on fire." Elisif gave Cassia a once-over. "Shall I take it you're the mage the College sent to help me?"

Cassia shared a glance with Dulurza. "...Kinda." She hedged. "Things are complicated over there. But I was uniquely available on short notice, and I am absolutely thrilled to be lending my services to the Jarl of such an important city."

Her grin was a little too excited. Elisif raised an eyebrow. "But you _are_ qualified?"

"I've...done my first year of higher education?" Cassia offered. "But I'm _really_ good. The best. Believe me."

"Is that so." Styrr spoke up. "Name the six types of ghosts."

"There's seven." Cassia replied, immediately. "Oblivion-fled, Aetherius-fled, soul-gem-bound, skeletal, draugr, wraith, and ectoplasmic. I imagine they were still grouping those last two as 'Nirn-bound' when you last studied. Maybe read a publication that came out in the last ten years." She crossed her arms and looked at him. "Name all the star constellations used to power restoration spells, I'll let you stick to standardised ones to keep things brief."

Styrr spluttered. "But-There's over a hundred and seventy! Nobody can memorise all of them!"

Cassia side-eyed Elisif. "Wow. You really _do_ need my help."

Dulurza (despite being prepared to kill the girl a few minutes ago) snorted in amusement.

"Alright." Elisif sighed, waving a hand. "What do you need to do?"

"First step, I'll need a detailed observation of what's going on." Cassia crossed her eyes. "I'm gonna need to examine you. Strip."

Dulurza's eyes shot up.

"I-We're still in the throne room!" Elisif spluttered. _Who is this girl?_

"Right, yeah. We can do that later." Cassia blew out a breath. "Well...I was gonna try this after, but we could _lead_ with the artefact of the dark god."

Elisif just stared.

Cassia glanced back at Dulurza, who sighed, pulling a satchel off one shoulder and working open the drawstring.

"Yeah, yeah, I know it's a ghost, shut up." The Thane growled, seemingly _at_ the bag, before pulling out...

**Oh bugger.** Muttered Potema, which was the most promising thing Elisif had heard all week.

"By the Divines." Styrr gasped. "That's a Daedric artefact!"

"Do you do anything _other_ than state the obvious?" Dulurza sighed. "Yes. This is Meridia's beacon." She winced at nothing visible, "And I'm starting to regret letting Xander tell it to talk to me...Now I'm no expert on Daedra that aren't Malacath but I know (because she won't stop saying it) that Meridia hates ghosts." Her brow furrowed. "I can relate."

"And from what Dulurza won't stop telling me it won't stop telling her," Cassia chipped in, with a smile, "We've come up with a plan."

"Why am I suddenly terrified." Elisif replied, flatly.

"We do a quest for the Daedra, get a powerful magical artefact, and use it on you to make the ghost go away." Dulurza summarised.

"Horribly dangerous, but what isn't nowadays?" Cassia beamed.

Styrr looked at them in horror. "This is...so blasphemous." He moaned. "So, _so_ blasphemous..."

Elisif frowned. "As much as I do trust you, Dulurza, this sounds like-"

**A terrible plan. Terrible, no-good plan. Won't work. Rubbish idea. Scrap it.**

"-an _amazing_ plan, and you have my full support in it." Elisif amended her statement mid-way, the screech of protest from her tenant music to her ears. "How long do you think it will take? I know you just got back, but..."

"Less than a day's hike to mount Kilkreath." Dulurza answered. "Me and Cassia will get it done immediately."

"We will?" Cassia looked up at Dulurza, and got a dark look. "I mean, uh. We will! Your majesty." She inched closer. "I'm new to the whole political game, that was always Octavia's thing, but uh. This is the sort of task that gets people in close with the people in power, right?"

"...Yes." Elisif eventually said._ Dulurza, I said they needed to be _not _crazy._

"Fantastic! I am on it!" Cassia clapped her hands, and whirled around. "Alright, let's go! I am going to be very sore from all this walking tomorrow but I'm Not There Yet!"

Elisif watched her start back down the steps, before turning to share a meaningful look with Dulurza. "I'm sorry for putting this all on you." She told her thane, grimacing. "I just don't know who else to-"

"It's fine." Dulurza smiled at her, expression looking slightly forced. "Nothing's going to happen to you on my watch. Trust me."

"I do." Elisif smiles, gratefully. "And Dulurza? Please hurry."

Her Thane nodded once to her, before making her way back out into the world.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ****8˂**

Xander sat by the fire, wrapped in blankets, and tried his best not to freeze to death. He'd spent a solid two hours thinking about almost nothing but how cold it was, so continuing in that vein felt sort of self-indulgent. But to sum it up; everything numb, everything hurting, body wouldn't stop shaking, and his brain wasn't working properly. That last point was probably a blessing in disguise, since it was probably the only thing stopping him having another panic attack. Still, it was also stopping him focusing on anything. People were talking at him and he couldn't even work out what they were saying. He'd read a book on what happened to people who got too cold once, he was sure about it...

_Okay, focus. What do we know? What are we certain of?_

"Feim." He muttered it under his breath, and nothing happened._ Of course it didn't, you have to mean it._ Still, he _understood_ it now. He'd been so foolish before, thinking that he'd understood the dragon language. He'd been able to _speak_ it, but that wasn't the same thing.

It wasn't enough to know that Feim meant 'fade'. In fact, that was wrong, Feim _wasn't_ fade, Feim was just...

"**Feim!**" He breathed in, and Shouted it. It bloody hurt his throat, he wouldn't be doing it again for another few hours, that was for sure. But his body flashed, and went a translucent blue.

Feim was _Feim_. Fade was just some silly word he'd used to describe it. And he hadn't really understood what the word meant until...until he'd really, really _meant_ it.

He couldn't feel the cold like this, couldn't feel anything, in fact. He was ethereal, practically a ghost. Ethereal enough to fall from the window of the College of Winterhold, hit the icy sea below, and not feel a thing. But feeling nothing also included the comforting warmth of the fire.

He breathed out, and let the form go. The world went back to normal again.

"...What was that, friend?" Asked L'laarzen, sat by his side.

"Shouting." Xander replied, with a weak chuckle. "I can do dragonshouts. _An_ dragonshout, but still. Dragonshouts. Ha hah, ha ha hah...I should be ecstatic, and instead I'm just hurting."

He shook his head, trying to get to grips with his situation. Azura's shrine, that makes sense. Aranea, also sensible. L'laarzen, less so. "Okay, I'm...here. Got it. Sorry for crashing at your home, Aranea, I saw the statue through the snow, and-"

"You are more than welcome here." Aranea reassured, leaning over the fire and carving off a chunk of the meat cooking there. She handed it to him, continuing, "Azura's champion has a greater right to this shrine than I do. Here."

He took it, and started chewing gratefully. The meat was too hot to swallow safely, and charred all over, but right then it was the best thing he could have ever eaten.

"Mm. Thank you. And hi, L'laarzen, how've you been? I haven't seen you in...hours."

"Oh, everything's awful." L'laarzen smiled brightly. "Azura's champion? My my, you have been busy. Khajiit must ask, what were you doing out in the storm all alone like that?"

"I got into a fight and almost died." He answered, simply. "And why are you here?"

"I got into a fight and almost died." L'laarzen giggled. He saw her eyeing his rabbit hungrily, and handed over the rest of the chunk. Aranea didn't complain, and L'laarzen started tearing into the meat.

They sat together like that for a while, saying very little as they finished off the rabbit. Aranea declined her fair share, before standing and telling them she was going to pray at the altar. If he had been properly lucid, Xander might have realised that was a blatant excuse. But he wasn't, so he didn't.

He glanced over at L'laarzen. She glanced back.

They were both blatantly trying really hard not to say something.

...Xander broke first.

"What am I going to do." He croaked, dropping his head into his hands.

"I imagine that depends." L'laarzen replied, evenly. "I would need to know what happened if I am to help."

"I...Everything's fallen apart. That's what's happened." He snorted, bitterly. "Not sure what I expected. Of course it did. What, did I think I could just lie forever and it would all work out? Divines, I'm an idiot." He sucked in an unsteady breath. "L'laarzen, I'm not...I'm not a mage. I'm just a liar. And I was so damn _proud_ of that when I last said it, like if I owned it it would hide the fact that I was a total bloody coward..."

"Not a mage?" She frowned, from beside him. "L'laarzen does not understand."

He held a hand out, pointing it at the fire. Focusing, he was able to make a spluttering of flame emerge, a weak stream that petered out after a few seconds. "That's it. That's all I can do. I don't just have 'an embarrassing weakness at illusion', L'laarzen, I have an embarrassing weakness at _everything_. Everything you've seen me do is just staves and scrolls and cheap tricks." He pulled his knees up to his chest, face tightening. "And now the College knows! Or if they don't, Mirabelle will soon tell them. And it couldn't just come out during a lesson one day, no no no, it's worse than that. It came out when I couldn't muster up the power to save them! If any other apprentice had been there, if _you_ had been there, you could have gotten Mirabelle out. But they were stuck with _me_. The stupid kid who had no business being there in the first place. And now the Archmage is dead, and some elf I don't think I've ever met is tearing the College apart, and it's all my fault, and-"

He paused, then reached into his clothes. There it was, the metal cool against his skin, and he laughed brokenly, pulling it out. "And I'm sat here with the key to the place they need to go to save themselves! I-Hah! I've ruined everything for everyone! I've-" The laughs turned to sobs.

"Oh, you poor thing..." L'laarzen scuttled around the fire to sit behind him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "It's alright. Shh, it's alright..."

_Talos, look at me now. I'm pathetic. Twenty one year old full grown man, and I'm sat here crying like I'm fourteen again and I've just realised I'll never cast firebolt..._

But there wasn't much else he could do, so cry he did.

He spent a solid few minutes just curled up, sobbing, with the knocker pulled into his chest. L'laarzen stayed there the entire time, saying reassuring words that didn't mean much but didn't have to. One of her arms wrapped around his shoulder, while the other moved to stroke his hair, which should have felt incredibly patronising but was actually quite nice.

Eventually he ran out of tears, and just sat there silently. Some time after that, L'laarzen spoke.

"The storm is beautiful, no?" She said, not ceasing her ministrations. "L'laarzen has seen rainstorms and sandstorms in Elsweyr and Morrowind, but snowstorms are new to her."

Xander lifted his head. Outside their shelter, the wind continued to howl, ice and snow swirling through the night air. He could barely see ten yards past their firelight. "I suppose so."

"Khajiit suspects that they are her new favourite." She continued, which prompted a bewildered look from him.

"Oh, not to walk in." She chuckled. "L'laarzen doubts she will remember her trek here fondly. But...there is a very specific feeling one gets when they are sat _inside_ and the storm is _outside_." She sighed, blissfully. "When one can sit warm and toasty by the fire, with some good food and a small sample of Skooma, and just...listen. Feel the force of nature just out of reach. L'laarzen thinks it is one of the best feelings in the world."

"...Mm." Xander nodded, after a second. "It's like there's a blanket pulled over you. A soft barrier between you and the outside world."

"Precisely! One can just sit for a while, and know that while the storm lasts, they may leave their problems for another day." L'laarzen paused. "However...all storms must pass eventually."

He tightened his grip on himself at the thought, and L'laarzen batted him on the head with one paw. "Ap-bap-bap! _Relax_. We have a phrase for what you are doing, Alexander: Sticking your head in the sand."

It was fairly intuitive what the phrase meant. "What's wrong with not talking about things if we can't _do_ anything about them?" He bit out.

"Only that you will feel very overwhelmed if you have to do all the thinking _and_ the doing all at once." L'laarzen replied, reasonably. "Come now. Your problems cannot bite you until the storm passes, and it will last for some hours yet. Relax, and think them through."

Xander breathed in, then out, and tried to let some of the tension out of his muscles. "...Okay. Problems. The problem is that the College is in danger, and they also know I'm a liar. The quest to save them is dangerous, and nobody can do it without the key that I have. Savos gave it to me right before...right before he died. So what can I do?"

"Well..." L'laarzen hummed. It sounded a lot like a purr, really, but 'hum' was a less racist-sounding thing to think. "Option one is to run away from everything."

He turned to give her another incredulous look, and she shrugged. "It would be remiss for L'laarzen to disregard the option, she has used it enough times in her life. If you fled back home, or to some other place in Tamriel, you would never have to confront this problem again. Quite reasonable, especially if you believe it may kill you to stay."

"Have you ever ran away from something this big?" Xander asked her.

"Oh, yes." The smile accompanying her reply was a sad one. "Why do you think this one came to Skyrim in the first place?"

Xander looked back to the fire and thought about it. It was hard not to panic, thinking of all the horrifying consequences of everything, and-

_No, come on. Snowstorm's still up. We can think all we want, we don't have do do anything yet._

"I...don't think I can run." He replied. "If I disappear, there's nothing they can do to stop what's going on in there. And...I don't want to leave them to die."

"A good choice, Khajiit thinks." L'laarzen squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "You are still young. Far too young to start that life. Once one has started running away...it becomes difficult to stop. So, any other ideas?"

Xander pondered it, twirling the knocker between his fingers. "I could...I could go back, give them this. _Then_ scarper. I mean, I could just throw it at the first mage I saw and then bolt if I needed to. They're far more equipped to deal with this than I am, anyway."

"Deferring to authority, often wise." L'laarzen nodded. "Can you think of any flaws for this one?"

He scrunched his eyebrows up. "Well...something about what the Archmage said...it was like he didn't expect their experience to help. He didn't like their chances going on the quest, and if a bunch of their top mages leave for Labyrinthian then there'll be nobody to hold the line at Winterhold. Also, I..." he winced. "I'm really, _really_ afraid of what they'll say or do if I go back there. They might have me thrown in prison!"

"Valid concerns." L'laarzen allowed.

"But I don't really know anything else I can do..." he pursed his lips, looking out at the storm.

"There is a third option." L'laarzen told him.

"Which is?"

"You do as this Archmage clearly wanted you to do, and go on the dangerous quest yourself."

He widened his eyes, looking back at her bewildered for the third time. "Are you _crazy_? Did you not hear the part where I told you I can't-"

"Alexander." She told him, sternly. "If a liar is pretending to be a scholar, and he is asked what is sixty eight times twenty two-"

"A thousand two hundred-_four_ hundred, and ninety six. 1496." Xander interrupted, after a moment's thought.

"-Then he may not know all that scholar does, he may be using a cheat sheet concealed in his robes, but he must be able to answer the question." L'laarzen finished. "If a liar means to convince a crowd he can lift a giant boulder, then maybe he will cheat with a lever, or a spell, or the help of a hidden ally. But regardless, the boulder has been lifted."

"Unless they used illusions..." Xander muttered.

"Alexander, in Mzulft the other day, L'laarzen witnessed a young man tearing into a horde of Falmer with sword and spell." She moved around so she could look him in the eye properly. "Whether you were fighting with might and magic or trickery and smarts, still you were _fighting_. Whatever your means, Alexander, you have been able to produce some rather impressive ends."

"But I don't _have_ any means!" He protested. "My scrolls, my staves, I left everything in my room! I have a knife and a pair of pyjamas!"

"But it is the Man that wields the tools, Alexander. Not the other way around. You have told me about many of your escapades, and the common factor is not your equipment. It is _you_. There is something _special_ in you, Xander, I can feel it. The heart of a warrior."

He flushed from the praise, but still snorted. "Me? Sure. I'm not some kind of hero, L'laarzen. Never was."

"'Hero' is just a label." She rolled her eyes. "All you can be is you. And you are enough."

Her words reminded him of something. He frowned and looked down, recalling his conversation with the Augur in the catacombs beneath the College. "Ask yourself what being a mage means..." he muttered, aloud. "And then stop moping around doing philosophy, and do what you believe a mage should do."

L'laarzen looked at him, expectantly.

_Liar or not, if I can lift the rock, then I'm someone who can lift the rock. Liar or not, if I can do what a mage should do, then..._

He realised where his mind was going. Groaned internally.

"Has anyone ever told you you're an excellent motivational speaker?" He asked L'laarzen.

She grinned. "Once or twice."

"I...thank you. Really."

"You are very welcome, friend. It would be quite rude not to help after you have done the same for L'laarzen in the past."

He sighed, and leaned back, looking up at the sky. He could see one or two stars poking out among the clouds. _Lok Vah Koor. The storm is clearing._

"I...don't have five septims on me currently." He said. "I can write you a check, though. The Meteuse family always pays their debts, but if you'd like I could offer you my dagger as collateral-"

"Mister Meteuse." L'laarzen tilted her head. "Are you asking this one for what she thinks you are?"

"Yep."

"Right now?"

"Of course." He sat back up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. "I've just made the decision to do something really, really stupid. The laws of every storybook ever dictate that I need a dramatic haircut."

L'laarzen smiled. "For you? I shall do it free of charge."

* * *

There was a cough, as a figure in dark grey armour appeared by the fire. "Uh." Karliah said. "We're clear. What did I miss?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ **

Urzoga Gra-Shugurz was a really _boring_ woman. Seriously. She practically never left the mine. After a day of slowly realising that, Hjarnagredda had had to take matters into her own hands.

Spotting the green-skinned woman through a slitted window, Hjar backed up and took up her position by the door. It opened, Urzoga stepping through calling "Mulush! Are you in here? This had better be urgen-"

Hjar darted up behind her, grabbing her arms and putting a knife blade dangerously close to her neck. Urzoga stopped talking.

"Do you have any idea" Hjar sighed, conversationally, "how _awful_ your brother's handwriting is? Faking that letter was a real pain in my rear."

"He had better not be dead." Her captive grit out.

"Nah, he's fine." Hjar dismissed. "Passed out on his bed for the next few hours; I bought a sleeping draught from Muiri (lovely woman) and slipped it into his food." Alone in the Orc's house, faking a letter requesting the mine boss' urgent presence had been easy enough.

"How nice of you." Urzoga growled.

"I don't kill innocent people." Hjar replied, brightly. Then she thought about her track record over the past few weeks, "Or, well, I only kill dubiously sorta-guilty people. Speaking of~"

Urzoga's laugh interrupted the chatter. "Hah! You are _exactly_ how Madanach said you would be." She crossed her arms, seemingly unconcerned by the knife at her throat now she knew her brother was safe. "I've not _been_ in the mine. I've been looking for you. You were supposed to keep one of the Forsworn guards alive, you know, or at least get one to shout the meet-point to you. I was sat waiting in the shrine of Talos for you for hours."

Hjar blinked. "Excuse me?"

Even from behind, she could see Urzoga smile. "Well met, Reachman. Sorry about threatening to break your legs."

"Oh, no Hircine-damned way." Hjar reached down and plucked the Orc's mace from her belt before removing the knife and shoving her forwards. She levelled the weapon at Urzoga, who stumbled briefly before turning around to look at her.

"_You _are with the Forsworn?" Hjar asked. "You run Cidnah Mine!"

"_Madanach_ runs Cidnah mine." Urzoga replied, far too smugly.

"I watched you beating on Braig less than two days ago!"

"And if I was working for Thonar I would have already killed him. Not to mention the 'king in rags' wouldn't be able to get away with half of what he does." Urzoga shrugged. "I do what I need to to keep my cover. Thonar hands me good money and I hand Madanach the keys to the mine whenever he needs them." She tilted her head. "Why did you break into my house?"

"I needed to know what was going on with the Silver-Bloods and what was going on with the mine." Hjar replied, slowly lowering the mace. "You seemed the most likely to know both. Also I wanted to get you back for kicking Braig."

"Fair. Alright, ask your questions. I'll do my best to answer them."

Hjar thought about what she wanted to know. In the end, it was fairly simple. "...What in _Oblivion_ happened?"

"What, before you spread a murder scene across half the city?" Urzoga rolled her eyes. "Thonar wanted you brought up to him and killed. Madanach saw an opportunity to set you loose in the city." She growled. "My mercs weren't supposed to come with. Annoyingly, the Silver-Bloods vet everyone they hire, so everyone _else_ under my command still work for them."

"Well that's convenient." Hjar thought about it. _It's not like grandfather to plan a 6v3 and think I've got a chance. But the mercs weren't in on either plan..._ "So now what? I'm alive. I take it he wasn't just giving me a chance to leave the city?"

Urzoga shook her head. "'Course not. Your king has a mission for you."

"I'm not sacrificing myself to stab a woman in a marketplace." Hjar deadpanned, immediately.

"Nothing that simple." Urzoga replied. "You've caused an awful lot of chaos around here recently. Madanach wants you to cause an awful lot more."

_Oh, wonderful._ Hjar tried not to sigh. "He wants me to kill a Silver-Blood, doesn't he?"

"Close. Think bigger." Urzoga urged. "You're getting the honour to kill the man every Forsworn in the Reach wants the head of."

It took a second. Then Hjar's jaw dropped. "He wants me to kill Jarl Igmund?"

Urzoga grinned, and it was all the confirmation Hjar needed.

The man that had been fighting the Forsworn for the last decade. The man that had killed Braig's daughter, and so many others.

The man who had forced Hjar out of her home.

She tightened her fists. "Details."

* * *

**And we're back into the swing of things!**

**This chapter had a whole lot of getting into peoples heads. The mainstay obviously being Xander's talk with L'laarzen. My main reference point for what he was feeling was the familiar case of 'please for the love of god don't make me think about my future' that I think we've all been through at one point or another. Especially when it comes to leaving education and having to decide what the hell to do with ourselves. Though most of us don't exactly have our friends' lives on the line...**

**Meanwhile Potema is causing Elisif a great deal of distress, and Hjar is at this point wondering who in the city _isn't _a Forsworn. Seriously, they're just crawling out of the woodwork.**

**Next Time: Someone hardens their heart, someone hardens their resolve, and someone tries really hard not to punch their travelling companion.**


	21. Familiar Faces

**Familiar Faces**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Shalidor's maze was constructed by the first Archmage himself, in the waning days of his leadership of the college. It had been built as a test for future Archmages, designed to challenge not only their understanding of magic, but their capacity for critical decision making, and their ability to defend the people in their care. Gauldur, Deneth, Savos Aren, all had travelled to this maze at the time of their coronation to prove themselves.

...Xander didn't have any idea what all the fuss was about.

Really, the most difficult part was tolerating the cold and carrying all four staves without a proper sheath for them. Aranea had been kind enough to loan him a spare robe for the first problem; the second he dealt with by jamming two under each arm and pulling out whichever was necessary to solve the _incredibly simple_ puzzles. _Shoot the alteration thing with the alteration staff. Shoot the destruction thing with the destruction staff. Come on, I don't even have to worry about dead ends. It's not a maze, it's a corridor with skeevers in it. Seriously, this is an Archmage level challenge? Ooh, word wall!_

He briefly scanned the Dohvahzuul as he passed. "Noble nord, don't be afraid of death, Sovngarde awaits...I mean doesn't really apply to me, but thanks. Hey, maybe if I- _FAAS!_" He paused. "Nope, didn't work, just sound like an idiot now. Thought maybe I was, I dunno. Divines' sake Xander stop being an idiot we already know the Dragonborn isn't you, focus up..."

More corridors. Restoration plaque, shoot with restoration staff. A trapdoor opened, he dropped the staves down, winced at their clattering, then awkwardly shimmied and clambered down himself. He picked them up, looked up, and...oh. Portal. Nice. He walked in.

The swirling sphere of black and white gave off all sorts of conjuration vibes as he entered. For a moment, he was in a twisting vortex of greys, with a figure a few metres away from him.

It turned around-

And then he was back outside the front of the maze. Facing him, drawing an ebony sword from the sheath at it's hip, was-

Xander's eyes widened. "Oh, it's you!"

The Dremora paused. Then it's mouth opened in recognition. "Oh, _you!_ You're the mage from Azura's star, right?"

"Yeah! How've you been? I didn't know you had a side gig here!"

The Dremora shrugged. "Not many people visit Shalidor's maze. I'm only ever pulled here once every couple decades, and it only lasts a few minutes or so when I do. Set the deal up with Shalidor way back, nice bit of pocket magicka, you know?"

"Oh, yeah. Still, good to see you're still finding employment."

"Yeah, it's good! You didn't put me totally out of a job. We're kind of in the end times right now, a lot of business for Daedra."

"Good to hear, good to hear." Xander pursed his lips. "Soooo...We gotta fight?"

"Yeah, basically." The Dremora tapped itself on the head with it's sword, where a gold circlet was placed. "You kill me and take this to prove you're worthy. Then once you're officially Archmage you bring it back." It looked around. "Weird that I'm alone. The maze sort of measures your magical power and decides what's a good challenge for you. Usually there's a few Dremora like me and an Atronach or two."

_Oh, yeah, right, that's what this trial is. Hah, and I'm cheesing it with my garbage magicka count._ Xander tried not to snort. _Archmage? Screw that. I'm handing this to Mirabelle the moment I get back._ "Okay. Do we go now?"

"Yeah, let's go now."

"Alright good."

Xander dropped two of the staves and started sprinting.

He blasted the firebolt staff at the Dremora once, twice, and it raised it's offhand to block them with a ward. Xander kept running, and the Daedra narrowed it's eyes, tracking the staff as Xander raised it high-

Then tossed it up into the air.

The Dremora's eyes widened in surprise, still following it, meaning it wasn't ready for what shot out of Xander's second staff. Namely, the magelight staff. The bright ball of light didn't get past the ward, but it stuck to it, forcing the Dremora to wince and shut it's eyes against the glare.

Then Xander dropped that staff too, darted in, grabbed the Daedra's upraised sword arm and twisted it, burying the blade in it's own chest.

It coughed up some blood.

"Hey, can I keep this sword?" Xander asked, idly, before wincing as the firebolt staff clattered down onto his head and fell to the floor. "I don't have one at the moment."

"Sure." The Dremora gasped out. "I can claim it as a work expense."

"Nice. Thanks!" He plucked the diadem off it's head, then yanked the sword out and kicked it's body to the floor.

It disappeared in a swirl of blue and he glanced around, confirming that he was, in fact, right where he'd started.

He put his arm through the diadem, wearing it as an armband, and then frowned.

"Wait a minute. I wasn't even supposed to go this way was I? Oh, come on-"

* * *

**8˂**

"Now then." L'laarzen hopped up onto a wooden table and smiled innocently. "Now that all the chaos has subsided, would you mind explaining to Khajiit what exactly is going on?"

The chaos had, sadly, absolutely _not_ subsided. The cozy little basement she perched in (along with Karliah and an Elven man named Enthir) was beneath an inn known as the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold. Winterhold, which was in absolute uproar at the moment. She hadn't gotten a good view of what was happening, being quickly hurried into the basement by Karliah after the Dunmer had pulled Enthir aside. But there were guards and mages running around, shouting at each other, bright blue shapes twirling through the sky, the Jarl was stalking through the city in full battle armour and a strange glowing circle was manifesting around the great castle offshore.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was very wrong at the College. _Alexander, I hope you can resolve this soon. People are hurting._

But she had a much more imminent problem.

Karliah, hood and mask removed for once to reveal her face, leaned back on a support beam in sighed. "I suppose I should. You're caught up in this now, same as I. Shall I just start from the beginning?"

Enthir glanced at her. "Do we have time for that? Not that I don't enjoy your company, my dear, but have you seen what's going on upstairs?"

"L'laarzen almost just assassinated someone who may have been innocent." L'laarzen said, voice cold. She looked between them. "She would like a very in-depth explanation for these circumstances, and she would like one fast. Khajiit has judgements to make, and she must make them soon."

_Like whether she should murder you both here and now and return to Riften..._She clamped viciously down on the thought.

"Alright. Then I suppose I should start with the Nightingales." Karliah looked down. "We were an elite group, an inner circle in the Thieves guild, made up of Gallus, Mercer, and I."

"So Mercer told Khajiit." L'laarzen crossed her arms. "It seems that it did not work out."

"That's one way to put it." Karliah scowled. "Near the end, the two of them were planning something. Looking for something. I should have paid more attention, asked for more details, but...well. They were having their _academic_ talks. History, science, and all that. I was only interested in the gold and the thrill of the heist, so I left them to it, but...whatever it was, it was big. Real big. And Mercer wasn't willing to share it."

L'laarzen slowly nodded, scanning every word for inconsistencies. "Is this the part where Khajiit simply flips around what Mercer told her?"

"Depends what he told you." Karliah shrugged. "Mercer invited me and Gallus to a secret, urgent meeting at Snow Veil. Wouldn't say what about. I never suspected a thing, but Gallus had been getting suspicious of him over the few weeks prior, told me to be on my guard. It was the only reason I got out of there alive."

"I woke up one night to find Karliah collapsing into my room at the College." Enthir spoke up, confirming the story. "Half dead from frostbite and sword wounds. A week later I get a letter from Mercer telling me how she tried to put an arrow in him."

"I'd certainly love to now..." Karliah growled.

L'laarzen looked up to the ceiling, mulling it all over. _Khajiit will need more evidence before she unsheathes her claws again. That was too close. But..._

"Karliah, L'laarzen would like to apologise profusely for trying to kill you." She spoke up, meeting the Dunmer's eyes. "She was misinformed, and should not have risen to murder based on hearsay and speculation."

"You're forgiven." Karliah replied, immediately. "You changed your mind in the heat of the moment, that's more than anyone else would have done." Her lips quirked up. "And I'm not exactly in a position to refuse allies."

"Quite." L'laarzen smiled, trying to put her happy persona back into place. It was difficult, hiding in a basement during a catastrophe after a near death experience, but she gave it her best shot. "Now then. It is clear that we won't have any peace until the truth is brought to light and Mercer is removed as an obstacle."

"I've been trying." Karliah sighed. "I've put a lot of effort and a lot of gold into trying to hamper him, but nothing so far has worked."

"Well, yes." L'laarzen blinked at her innocently. "That's because they were all rubbish ideas."

"...Excuse me?" Karliah asked. Enthir snorted.

"Goldenglow Estate, Honningbrew meadery, and presumably others." L'laarzen recited. "Attempts to isolate Maven Black-Briar from the guild, yes, but _why_?"

"She's one of our biggest backers." Karliah explained, clearly uncomfortable with being put on the spot. "If she cut ties with the guild-"

"Then the guild would be poorer, yes. And?" L'laarzen waited a beat. "It may seem like a strike against Mercer, but it does nothing besides damage the guild you still want to be a part of. Perhaps if they fell apart completely he would be easier to target, but he would also be harder to find, and you would have nowhere to return to when he was gone." Amateur, plain and simple.

"I-" Karliah huffed. "Look, I'm not a tactician, alright? I'm a thief. A damn good one, but nobody ever taught me how to dismantle a hostile power structure as a one-woman army! What would you have done?"

"Assassinate him." L'laarzen replied, simply.

Enthir and Karliah both stared at her.

"Hire the Morag Tong or Dark Brotherhood, if you'd rather not get your own hands dirty." L'laarzen moved off the table and started pacing, giving the matter some thought. "If you _are_ willing to do it yourself, luring him out to an ancient ruin is hardly the best way. He could have brought an army down those tunnels for all you knew. No, you should have gone to Riften yourself. He was foolish enough to own a house in the city; you know where he lives. Stab him while he sleeps. Set up oil canisters and burn down Riftweald manor with him inside it. Shoot him while he's in the city streets, on his way to the warrens. Time and anonymity were on your side, you had a period of many years wherein you could have struck and he would not have known."

L'laarzen turned, paced the other way, "Or, prioritise the guild-members. It's difficult to change the minds of groups; so approach them individually. Pick the ones you think will be the easiest to convince, and work up from there. You already have Enthir's word on your side. Get the guild to revolt against him together. Get Maven on your side if she's so useful, don't _antagonise_ her. Pay those who can be bought, offer truth to those who care about it. If you require more evidence, get some. Wait until he's in the Ratway and search his house for incriminating evidence. Search his house anyway, if you are such a good thief. Steal his money, equipment and burn everything else. Or if you'd rather he never know you're there, poison his food. Put deadly insects in his clothes. Poison his water supply, trap his bed with Chaurus eggs so they hatch with his body heat, trap his favourite chair with rusted spikes in the cushioning. Follow him until you know his routine. Remember, when-"

_Whenever you seek to destroy a target, information is always key._

She stopped, abruptly, and looked at them both. They were staring at her.

"How in the name of Nocturnal do you _think_ of all that?" Karliah demanded.

_Oh dear_. "Is it not common sense once one takes the time to think?" L'laarzen tried to defend herself, weakly.

"Normal people might think about summoning the Dark Brotherhood if a man betrayed them." Enthir spoke up. "They don't plan to plant _Chaurus eggs_ in the man's bed. Who _are_ you?"

"L-L'laarzen is a hairdresser-"

"Okay, fine, that's your infiltration persona, very clever." Karliah crossed her arms. "But who are you _really?_"

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid cat!_ L'laarzen berated herself, looking between them. _What is wrong with you? Calling upon _his_ teachings like that. One betrayal, and suddenly all your self restraint is gone? We made ourself _promises_, L'laarzen!_

She replied with another piece of old advice, however, 'when in doubt, attack'. "L'laarzen could ask _you_ the same question." She replied, focusing on Karliah. "What strange magics are you 'Nightingales' using? You turned completely invisible, with no spell, scroll or potion. And Mercer shrugged off that deadly poison of yours within minutes. How?"

Karliah looked down. "I don't know."

L'laarzen grit her teeth. "Do no _lie_ to-"

"I don't know!" The Nightingale shouted. "I spent _months_ making that poison. I have several ideas for how he resisted it, but I don't know. Some are more likely, some make no sense at all, and one...one is the most unlikely of all, but it would make _far too much_ sense. And unless I'm certain that it _is_ true, it's a secret I can't share. I'm sorry."

L'laarzen waited a few moments, not truly expecting anything more, just ensuring that the topic of her background had been thoroughly dropped. Then she sighed, leaning back against the table. "Apologies again. L'laarzen is cold, tired, stressed, and hurt. No, we should not go and collect some Chaurus eggs, but we do need to do _something_." _Khajiit just wanted to buy a house in Riften in a shop. She never wanted to get involved in this sort of scheming...not again..._

"Well, convincing the guild to turn on Mercer _was_ the eventual plan." Karliah turned to Enthir. "Want to tell her what we have?"

"I would, if we had anything."

Karliah gave Enthir a _look_, and he sighed. "Alright. Gallus didn't leave us empty handed. During that first night in Snow Veil, he gave Karliah this." He reached into a satchel at his hip, and pulled out a red leather bound book. There was a stylised bird on the cover. "This was Gallus' journal. We both suspect that the information in here is enough to incriminate Mercer, but..."

"It's coded?" L'laarzen guessed.

"Hah! If only." Enthir tossed the thing rather casually on the table. From his expression, it was hardly the roughest he'd been with it. "Karliah has had me working on this encryption for years now. The reason it took me so long to crack it is, well. I did crack it within a month or so, it just took me this long to realise it. It's hard to know you're making progress when you can't read the language the decoded version's written in. When in Oblivion that paranoid coot had time to learn _Falmer_..."

L'laarzen' ears pricked up. _Oh, yes, let's target all the poor Khajiit's insecurities at once shall we-_ "The Falmer have a written language?"

"Well of course, they- Ah, forgive me. You're thinking of the Falmer of modern day." Enthir chuckled. "I doubt those wretched things can so much as hold a pen. No, I'm referring to the Snow Elves as they originally were. A magnificent kingdom, by all accounts."

"Before their enslavement by the Dwemer. I know the lore." L'laarzen nodded. She'd had a rather recent crash course in it.

"Quite. Point is, I can't translate it. There's not enough in the journal to put a whole language together, and even if I could work out what 'and' and 'the' are, all the key words would be impossible. I need a translation, or a lot of other Falmer writing and a good few months."

"It'll have to be the former." Karliah told him. "That, or Chaurus eggs."

"Can we maybe _stop_ with that?" L'laarzen winced. "But I agree. Where can we find such a translation?"

"I know one person who might have cracked it." Enthir replied. "But, uh. He's in Markarth. Are you willing to trek the entire diagonal of the country?"

"She'll have to steal a horse..." Karliah muttered.

"Oh, will she?" L'laarzen glanced at her. "Not coming?"

"I have preparations to make." Karliah replied, which sounded incredibly half-arsed to the Khajiit. "I need to think on some of your advice, actually. And...it's high time Gallus got a proper burial."

"Hm. Very well." L'laarzen sighed.

_Horse theft. With no excuses. Necessity is getting in the way of Khajiit's preferences again...__We do what we have to do. Then we buy Honeyside and settle down, put all this behind us_.

"Two horses." She said, in a monotone. "If L'laarzen steals a fresh mount in Whiterun she can make the trip faster. Give her two weeks."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Xander strode into Labyrinthian, ignoring the skeletons that were locked in position attempting to crawl towards escape. A gate opened at the pull of a lever, allowing him access to a cavernous space, filled with bones.

These bones were not kind enough to remain stationary. Around the room, piles of them began to move, pulling themselves together into full figures that brandished swords and palms full of ice.

Xander narrowed his eyes, and went to work.

A firebolt caught one in the chest, then another, and Xander ran up on another with his new sword, dragging the sword up through its ribcage and dismantling it entirely.

He heard a growling noise from his right and turned his head, then brought his arm up and caught the swing of a sword on his staff of firebolts. The old Nordic metal ground down the body of the staff, sending sawdust flying, then Xander took its head off with his sword and turned his attention to the others.

Three more fell before Xander's attention was drawn by a roar; he turned to the centre of the room and gaped.

Great bone wingtips dug into the dirt, and a horned skull turned to stare at the intruder.

Xander clacked his mouth shut. "You know." He remarked. "You are the second complete Dragon skeleton I've ever seen. The other one didn't move so much."

It opened its mouth, and a veritable hurricane of frost tore from between its teeth.

Xander raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. _A cheap magical facsimile of real Thu'um. Oh it'll kill me instantly, but still. Let's teach it a lesson._ "**FEIM!**"

The flash of his body turning ethereal preceded the torrent of ice by a split second. It tore a great gouge out of the ground at his feet, causing bones that were caught in it to shatter in on themselves in an instant. But Xander felt nothing.

He walked straight forwards, ignoring the dragonbreath entirely. The undead thing snapped its jaws closed when he got close enough, but by that point it was too late. He passed by its skull on one side, then jammed his blade in through the gap in the back of its jaw. His staff soon followed, angled up where the blade pointed down.

With a heave, he forced the thing's mouth wide open.

It spasmed, but made no sound, and more importantly didn't die, and now he was tangible again. He tried to wrestle its skull to the floor, but had nowhere near enough strength to stop its thrashing. Scowling, he closed his eyes and focused on the staff for a moment. The crystal at it's end audibly cracked. Then he released it, yanked the blade alone out and back-pedalled away.

The dragon reared up to its full height, turning to him, and snapping its jaws closed on the staff of firebolts, breaking the haft off.

It moved to open it's mouth again-

But didn't get the chance.

Within its maw, the gem at the heart of the staff exploded, releasing all the remaining energy in it at once. The dragon stiffened as a bang reverberated around the room, and half of its teeth went flying out in all directions. Then it collapsed, skull shattering on the floor.

Xander sighed in relief, then started laughing. "Eat your heart out, Malyn Varen. I've been breaking powerful magical artefacts since I was thirteen."

Staves had their own power source, after all. You could get a lot of mileage out of using them 'wrong'.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"Daedric temple!

Daedric temple!

On the mountain!

Daedric Daedric Daedric Daedric temple!"

Cassia skipped along merrily through the trees, and Dulurza tried to resist the urge to stab her.

"Don't suppose you could make that flame cloak appear again?" The Orc asked the young mage.

"Uh, I could, but, why?" Cassia glanced back. "You cold?"

"No. Because when you're concentrating on a spell, you shut up." Dulurza weathered the girl's pout, looking further up the hill. "And look sharp. We're here."

The shrine to Meridia was...very impressive, actually. Dulurza had no idea how someone had gotten away with building such a massive temple to a Daedra. Maybe it was just that ancient? Or the Nords were even more incompetent than she had thought. _Someone did somehow build a massive statue of Azura right outside a major city and nobody tried to stop them..._

"Wow." Said Cassia. "That statue of Meridia is showing waaay too much leg. Look at her, what a tease! She's eighty percent wing and flowing robe and then the carvers went 'hey, let's give the worshippers a little something to-"

"Do _not_ need to hear this." Dulurza reached into her sack, pulling out the beacon. "Alright, your worshipfulness. What do we do?"

**Place my beacon on the altar.** Meridia's voice hummed between Dulurza's ears. **And...try to pretend you're Alexander while you do it, please.**

"Spells." Dulurza acquiesced, making her voice as high as she could. "Dragon words. Insecurities."

**Pretend _properly._**

"Why _is_ he your champion anyway?" Dulurza asked, bringing it towards the receptacle-looking-thing at the foot of the statue. "Is it just that he was the first person to find you?"

**Of course not. My champion is a special young man. He is fast becoming a powerful conduit.**

"Which means?"

**Someone like you would never understand the complexities.**

"You know I could toss this thing back down the mountain?"

**And I could leave your Jarl to be possessed by a ghost. Don't try me, Orc.**

"Tch..."

"Oh, once you find a rock to argue with you ignore me?" Cassia crossed her arms. "That's rude."

"I_ can't_ ignore you. That's the problem..." Dulurza set the beacon in it's perch, and stood back.

The result was suitably impressive. The beacon began to glow, and floated into the air until it was between the hands of the statue. White light shot up through it, sending each of its facets sparkling with radiance, and then blasted upwards into the sky, parting the clouds above it.

**YES!** Meridia's voice crowed. **COME, MORTAL, BASK IN THE...the...**

She trailed off.

"...You okay?" Cassia asked.

**...Neither of your are the champion**. Came the God's voice, sheepish. **This just feels awkward. I was going to float you all up into the sky to talk with me properly, but that would just be...it just wouldn't _feel_ right. And now my grand return is all botched, that boy has ruined _everything_.**

"Yeah he does that a lot." Cassia rolled her eyes. "The Synod still won't put spadetail soup back on the menu after the stunt he pulled with the-"

"Then let's skip the theatrics." Dulurza interrupted. "We'll tell everyone how impressive you were later, I swear it."

**Hmph. Fine. There's this Necromancer prat corrupting my temple. I'm going to shoot a light beam in there to unlock the doors for you. Help it through, kill him, and get the Dawnbreaker.**

"Got it." "Got it."

The light flashed sideways, hitting a crystal atop a pillar and then disappearing into the structure.

"...Is it just me who actually really wished we'd gotten to fly?" Cassia piped up.

"Just...get down there. Let's start killing things before this relationship becomes un-fixable." Dulurza grabbed her axe and started walking.

"Are you implying that if we do violence together we'll actually start to like each other?" Cassia asked, following.

"Maybe. It worked with your brother."

"Hah!"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Xander stared at the ice door. Sighed. "Okay. If I'd known this was here? I wouldn't have blown the firebolt staff up."

The copy of an ancient spell tome nearby made the solution quite clear; the book described some primitive variant of the basic 'flames' spell. Xander sighed again, dropped it to the floor, and faced the door. _Hopefully I just have to sort of touch it with the right magic, and not melt the entire sheet. I don't exactly have great experience bringing down magical barriers..._

He winced at the recent memory from the Hall of the Elements, then prepared himself, calling the flames to his hands. "Alright. Three, two, one-"

"_Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?_" The voice echoed into Xander's head, emanating through the door ahead of him accompanied by a deep blue glow. His focus shattered, he screamed loudly, and the fire in his hands winked out as he was hit with a wave of fatigue.

His first feeling was terror. Then surprise. Then, slowly, a trickle of glee began to form in his stomach.

_'Who comes to my dark kingdom'. That was Dovahzuul._

He breathed deeply, and then called out "Alexander Meteuse! Wo spaan daar kruziik qoth?" _Who defends those ancient tomb?_

There was a long pause. Then, the voice returned.

"_I am Morokei._" It continued, still in the dragon language. "_It has been a long time since one addressed me in the true tongue._"

_Glorious. It's name is literally Glorious._ Xander grinned, and continued, also in Dovahzuul. "Modern languages are indeed crude, aren't they? I enjoyed your skeletal dragon; do your masters take kindly to you making puppets of their corpses?"

"_That one's soul was consumed by the first Dragonborn, long ago. It's body had no meaning. Lord Alduin will not begrudge me my use of it, once his sights return to Bromjunaar._" The voice continued. "_Why are you here? I was expecting Aren to be the one to return._"

At this point, Xander was fairly sure what was going on. _It's a dragon priest. There's...there's an actual dragon priest down here. Beginning to see why the Archmage was so afraid..._

These were the kings of ancient Skyrim, ruling at the behest of the dragons. It was said that they had the power to dominate minds, fly, control nature itself. Legends had it that the island of Solstheim only existed because a fight between priests had torn the thing off of the continent.

Then only reason Xander wasn't running away screaming was that now, the ancient sorcerer was a draugr.

_It has to be, otherwise it would be millennia dead. And these zombies are substantially weaker than they were in life. Weak enough that some have been slain by adventurers in the past. Weak enough for me? Well, let's find out..._

"I come seeking the staff of Magnus." He spoke, eventually.

His response was a low, guttural laugh. "_Brave. Yet foolish._" Morokei replied. "_You shall not lay claim to my greatest prize, young mage. But if you make it deep enough into my home...it shall lay claim to you._"

The voice went silent, and the pressure relented.

Xander's shoulders began to shake, as he stood before the door. But this wasn't the shudders of fear. He was laughing.

"Ahahaha! Ahahahahaha! Haah! Do you have _any idea_ how long I've wanted to talk to someone in Dovahzuul? Any idea? _Years_, Morokei! Years!"

He reached down, picked up the fire tome he'd dropped earlier, then walked over to one of the candles that was...somehow lit? Whatever. He touched the corner of the pages to the flame, and waited for it to catch. "If this works, it's gonna be hilarious." He said, to a skeleton on the floor nearby. Then when the volume was thoroughly alight, he turned and tossed it at the door.

The burning book lodged in the ice, clearly nowhere near hot enough to actually melt the barrier. Still, there was a crackling noise, and the ice slowly disintegrated, leaving the doorway clear.

The spirit that had been causing the obstacle manifested itself; a ghost glowing bright blue and wielding a pair of swords.

A bolt from the Turn Undead staff took it in the chest, and it screamed, running back through the doorway before tripping on a stone and falling down the cliff on the other side.

Alexander confidently strode through after it.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ ****8˂**

Hjarnagredda was going to assassinate the Jarl of Markarth.

Before that, though, she was going to get a haircut.

Her mind was whirling; had been for days. She'd of course immediately wanted confirmation of what Urzoga had told her, and it wasn't 24 hours before she got it. A note, pressed into her hand by an unobtrusive citizen as she walked towards Urzoga and Mulush's house.

_Granddaughter,_

The note had read,

_I understand what it is that you want. It's the same thing we all want. Freedom. While you're aboveground, you are perhaps freer than I, but you still must bend to the whims of your enemies. You are still trapped within Markarth's walls. Freedom is not something you can compromise on, my dear. There can be no half measures. I am glad you are willing to do what is necessary, and hope you realise that once you have taken this step, you cannot take it back. You must keep walking, and we will walk behind you until the Reach is free._

_So go. Kill the man that ran you out into the wilds. On this next Tirdas, the city must wake up to find its Jarl dead, and it's mine deserted. Slay him before sunrise that day, and come to the locked entrance to the Dwemer ruin on the mine-side of Understone Keep. There, we will meet. And we will all be free._

_-Waiting with baited breath,_

_Madanach, the King in Rags._

Tirdas was tomorrow.

_...Hircine, you can tell how he talks people into murder-suicides in the marketplace, can't you?_

"...Friend?"

"Hm?" Hjar glanced up at the Khajiit stood behind her. "Oh, sorry, I was just-"

"Thinking?" The cat smiled good-naturedly. "Khajiit understands, she has been doing a lot of it herself lately. Then we shall have to quickly decide what I must do with your hair, and you can get back to thinking while I work, no?"

"Just make there be less of it." Hjar chuckled, dejectedly. "It's a mess, always has been and always will be. I wish I could get it into a mohawk, but I'm not paying you enough to pull off a miracle. For five septims I can't even ask you to disentangle it; you'd make more money for your time chopping firewood." _I wish I had Margret's hair...Hmph. I wish I had Margret full stop._

"Is that a challenge?" The Khajiit chuckled. "L'laarzen would not be the best hairdresser in Mundus if she didn't accept. Let her see what she can do..."

The Khajiit went to work on Hjar's hair with a pair of scissors, and Hjar went back to her thoughts.

So, killing the most protected man in Markarth. Was it possible? Yes. Would it be easy? Oblivion no. _I wouldn't have much trouble tearing in there as a wolf and bringing him down, but getting out alive might be another matter, and grandfather clearly wants it done with some degree of subtlety._ But Hjar was still a wanted woman. She had been sleeping in Urzoga's house during the day while Mulush was out and creeping hooded through side streets at night. The main entrance to Understone Keep was guarded. The entrance to the throne room within that was guarded. The doors from there to the Jarl's quarters (and she'd never been inside, this was just what Urzoga has told her) were also guarded. Hjar knew how to sneak while hunting, but trying to pass within feet of alert guards in a well lit room was just stupidity. Either she could become an expert illusion mage in a day...or she'd have to get creative.

This led to why she was sat on a rickety chair paying to have her hair done by a strange Khajiit woman in a back alley.

"L'laarzen, right?" Hjar asked, relaxing into the feeling of her head being taken care of, "Are you new in the city?"

"Indeed!" The Khajiit answered, brightly. "L'laarzen only arrived here yesterday. The city seems somewhat...tense, is that fair to say?"

"Tense is one word for it." Hjar smiled, grimly. "if you're just here to ply your trade in a new location, you may have picked the wrong hold."

"Well, that is not the main reason." L'laarzen replied. "Believe it or not, Khajiit is here on a quest of love. Not her own, mind you; a man named Calcelmo is having some romantic woes, and I have been sent by a disciple of the Temple of Mara to aid him. This was a good few weeks ago, but Khajiit has been...busy, of late."

"Calcelmo the historian? He's the one excavating the Dwemer ruin, right?" _The one the Jarl's keep is built into?_

"Yyyyes, L'laarzen thinks so. Khajiit paid little attention to his research, in truth, she was _enthralled_ by how many words he had to describe his unrequited. Faleen the Jarl's housecarl, can you believe it?"

"Really?"

"Really!"

_She is good. Ah, screw it, let's get to the point._ "L'laarzen," Hjar asked, "do you mind if I list a few observations I've made about you?"

"Observations?" The feline hands didn't cease their ministrations. "By all means."

"First, when you first arrived here yesterday, you appeared tired, yes, but not dirty or physically exhausted. Not very well outfitted for travel, either. The look of someone who had ridden a long way without rest, not someone who had walked." Hjar pressed on, ignoring the confused "hmm?" She received for her words. "Yes, you could have had a particularly bumpy carriage journey, but when I checked later, I recognised all the drivers in waiting. No new visitors from other cities. And even more interestingly, there weren't any new horses being stored in the stables." Hjar paused. "It's a stretch, but I think you rode here on a stolen horse and ditched it before reaching the city gates."

"My my, what a string of assumptions." L'laarzen's tone hadn't changed a bit. "Do you normally pay such attention to new visitors in your city? Markarth is a big place."

"No." Hjar replied, calmly. "This was all after I saw you checking out the lock on the door to the Hall of the Dead."

The fingers in her hair slowed. Hjar noticed in surprise that most of the knots were gone, before continuing: "A place you'd have no reason to enter, being not from here, until I realised that that Hall was one of the only ways into Understone Keep without passing a guard."

"...Really?" L'laarzen was stood behind Hjar, and as such her expression was unreadable.

"Really." Hjar agreed. "So I started following you about. I found it weird that you were walking around pretty much the entire city, alone, in the dead of night. Of course, I do it too, but that's only because I'm a wanted criminal." _Sure, I'm on a roll and I'm desperate, let's just put everything on the table._ "You spent extra time around the guardhouse, walked the entire way from the Keep to the gates along three separate backstreet routes, checked the depth and length of the city waterways, noted half a dozen spots where you could hide and be almost invisible...I've been here weeks and I could never have cased the city so well."

L'laarzen's hands finally stopped, and laid themselves on Hjar's shoulders. Hjar herself tried not to gulp as she saw the scissors just peeking out into her field of vision.

"And what exactly," said the Khajiit, "do you intend to do with all this information?"

"You're breaking into Understone. I'm breaking into Understone." Hjar replied, simply, trying not to let her tension show. _It's early, but if I need to let the wolf out I can._ "I can't do it alone. I figured we could help each other in, go our separate ways once we're through the doors."

"You are desperate, clearly, to be making such an offer to a stranger." L'laarzen remarked. Her grip on Hjar's shoulders had grown firm.

"A little. But I've had good experience working in pairs recently."

"L'laarzen too. Well, to a degree. Her experience with Orcs and Imperials have gone exceptionally well." The Khajiit's voice suddenly changed tone, all emotion vanishing. "Her experience with Bretons has almost gotten her killed. She will not risk that again."

L'laarzen's hands shifted off Hjar's shoulders. She would have let the wolf out right then and there, if not for the connotations of one very particular comment.

"Wait, wait wait." _Orcs and Imperials. There is absolutely no way, but,_ "Are you talking about an Orc called Dulurza by any chance?"

L'laarzen froze. Then she put her hands back on the chair. "...No way."

"Yes way." Hjar cracked a smile. "Okay this is an even further stretch because Imperials are much more common, but was _that_ someone called Alexander?"

"No way!" The tension in the air evaporated and L'laarzen rushed around the chair so she could look Hjar in the face, cat eyes sparkling. "To think that across the whole of Skyrim-"

"I know, right? I met Alexander and realised he was the one who enchanted Dulurza's armour for her, me and her had worked together once to take down a Forsworn camp-"

"Oh, Khajiit had not heard Dulurza went down these parts, she met the two of them in Whiterun to share a drink!"

"Do you know what they're doing now? Haven't seen much of them since that one time-"

"Oh well last time L'laarzen saw Xander he was up in Winterhold, getting himself into quite a bit of trouble but Khajiit is fairly certain he will be okay-"

They continued to chatter for almost a full minute before pausing for breath, looking at each other, and bursting out laughing.

"Oh, L'laarzen apologises for the threats and the racially charged statements." L'laarzen told Hjar. "It would be rather hypocritical thing for a Khajiit in Skyrim to say, wouldn't it?"

"Nah, don't mention it." Hjar waved her off. "I've, uh, actually done a lot of hurting Bretons myself recently."

"Oh, Khajiit understands." L'laarzen went back to her previous position, behind Hjar's back. "So, why do you want into the keep?"

"...Personal reasons." Hjar hedged. "I have some questions I want to ask one of the nobles in person. But I'm obviously not welcome in there."

"A shame, you seem so nice!" L'laarzen pat her on the shoulder. "Khajiit only needs access to some notes on the Falmer language. Calcelmo, despite her aid, will only allow her into the museum."

"A dead language? I'd love to hear the story behind that at some point." Hjar blinked, then ran a hand through her hair. "Wait. You- It's straight. There aren't any more- how did you _do_ that?"

"Best hairdresser on Mundus." Hjar could hear L'laarzen's smile. "Now then. Shall we come up with a plan?"

* * *

**And so, all four of the Disasters have finally met all three other members. Woo! Confetti!**

**Now I've heard a lot of people say that the Thieves Guild questline is one of the weakest. I know. I'm leaning into it. Karliah genuinely _doesn't know _how to deal with Mercer, so she's just taking shots in the dark. L'laarzen is more than willing to educate her, but that just leads to questions about _how _everybody's favourite cat knows all this stuff. Guesses in the reviews, folks. **

**Meanwhile Xander has grown a pair, and is throwing himself into danger with suitably reckless abandon. Finally, he's in a situation he actually knows a lot about. Shame he's got literally none of the resources he'd like while doing it.**

**Next Time: Literally Everyone Is In A Heist.**


	22. In The Dark

**Real dedication is when you load up a Skyrim save and spend three hours creeping around Markarth trying to figure out how a character could break into Understone Keep without getting caught. Because it's hard. It's very hard.**

* * *

**In The Dark**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Deep in the bowels of Labyrinthian, there were a series of deafening explosions. The walls shook, as massive balls of flame detonated along one of the labyrinthine (_yeah no duh-_) hallways. Alexander Meteuse strolled intangible through said hallway, watching with some amusement the attacks flying through his torso. Reaching the end, he walked behind the three obelisks before snatching up the three soul gems there and holding them up to the torchlight.

"What is this?" He exclaimed, reentering the physical world as he squinted at it. "How did he enchant the crystal itself to-cllk-_ngh_-" He stopped, then began coughing violently. "Ack, Divines, that hurts my throat so much, _aaagh_." He shook his head, wincing. "Is that going to happen _every time_ I Shout? Oh, lord, that's a pain..." he stuffed the crystals in the pouch he'd rigged from leftover Draugr armour, and kept walking.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza was on fire.

She was in the darkest dungeon in the history of dark dungeons, swinging an axe at shades of deceased souls who either used simple iron weaponry or ice magic.

So why was she on _fire_, you ask?

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MALACATH'S LEFT TESTACLE ARE YOU DOING?" Dulurza turned around and hollered at the young woman behind her, while trying desperately to pat out the flames spreading across her armour.

Cassia at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. She clicked her fingers and all the flames immediately vanished, clearing a circle of about five metres that Dulurza was on the edge of. "I'm sorry!"

"You _SHOT_ me!" Dulurza accused, outraged.

"I shot the _ghosts!_" Cassia countered, walking up after her.

"You shot the ghosts with an _explosion_ while I was in melee with them!" Dulurza stormed up to her and started looming. "Have you ever fought with a frontline warrior before?"

"Well, no!" Cassia retorted, flushing but not backing down. "But you were getting ganged up on, what was I meant to do? You've seen me fight, why were you in my way?"

"Because I _stab_ things! You've seen _me_ fight too!"

"Have you ever fought with a _mage_ before?"

"Well, no!" Dulurza glanced away in embarrassment for a brief second. "Or, sort of! Xander got in close too and he couldn't do fireballs!"

"Yeah, I bet he couldn't..." Cassia rolled her eyes.

"Look, you are what we Orcs call 'squishy'." Dulurza mimed squeezing something, which merited an outraged look.

"_Squishy?_"

"Which means it's my job to protect you because you die so easily! So if the best way to do that is for me to get ahead and engage the enemy before they can reach you, _especially_ if they're using ranged weaponry, then you need to stay back and stick to precision spells! Or do you not have any of those?"

"Of course I have precision spells! But that's not always right!" Cassia retorted. "Because I know that the standard way to do it is for you to stay back and _guard_ me while I hurl big area damage spells at anything that's far enough away!"

"Well I guess we'll just have to decide which is best each individual battle then!"

"I guess we will!"

There was a pause.

Dulurza tilted her head. "...Did we just come up with a proper battle strategy and solve the problem?"

"I...think we did?" Cassia replied.

"So...shall we just, do that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's just do that."

"Alright then."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**** 8˂**

The Hall of the Dead in Markarth was silent, but for the flickering of torch fires. Then there was a click, echoing through the old Dwarven halls.

Then, a low groaning noise, and the hissing of falling dust, as one door to the hall opened.

Hjarnagredda and L'laarzen closed the door behind them as quietly as possible, and began padding in through the halls.

"Think they saw us?" Hjar hissed.

"If they had, they would not be so quiet about their pursuit, would they?" L'laarzen smiled back at her. "We are safe, for now. Relax."

"Right." Hjar breathed out. "Sorry, not used to this. Animals don't hunt me back."

"I can imagine...well, this is us." L'laarzen walked up to the door on the opposite side of the Hall. "Now, we are lucky in that Brother Verulus is reportedly out of the city, with Throngvor Silver-Blood of all people."

"Ooh, illicit relationship?" Hjar guessed.

"Hmhmhm, perhaps. But what it means is-" L'laarzen clicked open the lock. From the inside, there was no need to pick it. Opening it revealed a bigger chamber, dotted with Dwemer structures and mage supplies. "-We can pass through here, with no distractions."

This late at night, the researchers were all in bed (well, except for one, but he was otherwise occupied), meaning they were able to navigate past the entrance to Nzchuand-Zel and back towards the main entryway. There, though they were inside the main door, two guards still flanked the archway to the Jarl's throne room.

"You sure you timed this right?" Hjar hissed, eyeing them.

"Certain." L'laarzen nodded, smiling. "She delivered the letter just before meeting you at the Hall. Allowing for the time it would take to read it, panic, and get dressed, and..."

The great doors to Understone Keep were thrown open.

The wizard Calcelmo stumbled through, red-faced, wearing two odd shoes and tightly clutching a letter. From the words L'laarzen knew it enclosed, she wasn't surprised by his urgency. "Excuse me," he panted, "I must speak to Faleen immediately, apologies, thank you very much-" he ran straight past the two guards.

They looked at him, then at each other.

"Oh, I've got to see this." One said.

"Ugh. Fine, I'll watch here. Ten septims says she hits him."

"I'll take that bet." The guard held out his hand, got a shake, then jogged after Calcelmo into the throne room.

"That leaves one." L'laarzen glanced at Hjar. "Khajiit can draw his attention for a few seconds. The rest will be up to you, and your window will be small."

"I'll make it work. Thanks for this." Hjar replied distractedly, her focus on the doorway.

"You are most welcome." There_ is determination in those eyes...good luck, friend._ L'laarzen stood up, brushed her dress off, and then skipped quite happily up to the doorway.

She waved cheerfully at the remaining guard, then gave a meaninful glance into the throne room, raising an eyebrow. He just shrugged at her, and she laughed lightly, before walking past him up to the museum. After just a couple of steps, not enough for his attention to leave her, she turned back to him with a hand raised and a question on her lips.

"Excuse L'laarzen, sir guard," she saw Hjar creeping up behind him, "but ah...oh where is it-" she kept her speech slow, made a spectacle of patting down her pockets before drawing out a key. "Here! Our friend Calcelmo has given Khajiit permission to enter his museum despite it being officially closed. However," Hjar was just behind the guard now. The reachwoman gave L'laarzen one last nod before dipping into the archway, "She is unsure if its okay to enter at this time of night. Only poor, foolish L'laarzen has left her satchel in there, and it contains all sorts of things she cannot bear going the night without, and..." she trailed off, blinking innocently.

The guard hummed. "Well, the old mage isn't the type to care much about 'reasonable hours'. The shifts that Elf has me working...but..." he glanced back behind himself into the archway, and L'laarzen's heart rate spiked. But whatever he saw, it didn't trigger alarm. He looked back at her. "I don't think he's in much of a position to mind right now. Go on in."

"Oh, thank you!" Relief not entirely faked, L'laarzen bowed to the guard, before taking off towards the museum. Her key fit into the lock, turned, and she let herself through into the museum displaying all the marvellous Dwarven artefacts that had been recovered so far. She would have liked to peruse them more deeply, but this was hardly the time for tourism. She had a mission.

Crouching down behind a cabinet, she stripped off her simple green clothes, folding them neatly into her bag. Dark grey fur blended seamlessly into the dimly hit Dwemer halls, and she withdrew a set of picks, a tinderbox and matches, and a potion of brief invisibility (for emergencies).

"No claws, L'laarzen." She breathed, before moving deeper in.

One door later, and she was officially trespassing.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar immediately moved to the darkest corner of the room, pushing herself flat against the wall and trying to make herself as small as possible._ Don't like this. You know what I can do if I'm hunting deer? Wear camouflage. Or turn into a big ruddy werewolf. Now I've got to dodge through 'blind spots', what kind of..._

The wolf growled, and she told it to shut up.

The chamber she found herself in was admittedly very impressive. A long set of stone steps led up through the cavernous space, and (following what L'laarzen had told her about the interior) she kept to the left, creeping practically down on all fours.

Slowly, the mournful throne came into view. _Who needs that pretentious a name for their seat, anyway...oh, hello, what's this?_

"Faleen, I-That is to say, I'm-"

"Shh. It's alright. I see now that you're a lot more eloquent out of person. I really should have expected it, someone with your mind."

The throne itself was vacant, the Jarl having retired for the night. But in front of it, Calcelmo and a Redguard woman were having a very intense chat. The few guards that had drawn the night shift (including the one who'd ran in earlier) were all blatantly staring.

Staring _away_ from Hjar. _L'laarzen, you're a miracle worker._

"I'm sorry," Calcelmo managed, "I just...I was always so nervous to talk to you, I never knew what to say-"

"Well then." Faleen put a hand to his lips, leaning in. "I suppose you'd just better stop talking..."

_Awwww. _Hjar left them to it, scampering up the last of the steps-

And coming face to face with a big grey dog.

The Jarl's quarters were directly in front of her, but directly in front of _that_, two hounds were laid on the floor, both of them immediately looking at her. They tensed, and one let out a low "boof" of warning.

_Oh no you don't-_ the wolf inside her growled, and for once, Hjar let herself growl right along with it. A low, rumbling sound in the back of her throat laden with as much threat as she could muster.

The dogs immediately sat right back down with their tails between their legs, one whimpering slightly.

_That's what I thought._ Fortunately their confrontation hadn't been heard; the two lovebirds had taken the opportunity to kiss, resulting in raucous cheering from the guards. Hjar knew that any more good luck was far too much to expect; she loped past the dogs and over to the door. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew the key that L'laarzen had pressed into her hand when they had met outside the mausoleum. _One master key to the whole keep? Maybe not smart._ The lock clicked open, and she pushed lightly at the door, wincing at the squeak it made. One of the dogs whined again, and she glared back at it, before slipping inside the room.

_Okay, part one completed._

She clicked the door shut behind her, locked it, breathed out heavily, and turned around-

And came face to face with Jarl Igmund.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza and Cassia crouched warily together, halfway down a set of stairs. In the room ahead of them, a man in black mage robes was barking orders at a large number of the shades.

"Ghosts. It's always ghosts..." Dulurza growled, glancing at Cassia. "I'll kill the mage guy if it means I don't have to fight them."

"Probably smart, if you can get close to him." Cassia agreed. "It's a decent distance to him though, he'll be casting spells at you the whole time."

"Can you ward me?"

"If I'm running up with you, sure, but I won't be able to deal with all of _those_ if I am." The mage gestured vaguely at the shades all across the room. "Can you dodge him?"

"I'm confident I can strafe past arrows and attack spells. Less so if he tosses a fireball at my feet." Dulurza squinted into the room. "Could you take him?"

"Absolutely." Cassia smirked. "Nobody dishes out as much magical bombardment as I can. Well, maybe Julius could, but not this third rate chump."

"The 'chump' that conquered a Daedric temple."

"Eh, fine, noted. But I might be better off targeting the shades. If I blow all my magicka on him, they'll swarm me. Can you fight twenty ghosts in a melee?"

"One at a time, aye, not all at once. I wouldn't want to risk it without a choke point. And I'm not going near whatever you're shooting unless I have fire resistance up."

"Xander enchanted your armour, right? Doesn't it have fire resistance on it?"

"No, which I'm now regretting. Darkvision on the helmet, increased constitution on the armour proper, increased swing-strength on the gauntlets and muffle on the boots..." Dulurza trailed off. Then smiled. "I have an idea."

* * *

When the roaring of flames came from the entrance to the inner sanctum, Malkoran was ready for it._ And so the interloper reveals themselves. Meridia has found a new champion, has she?_

He spun away from Dawnbreaker's altar and conjured a ward in both hands, and not a moment too soon; the fireball that flew towards him was an enormous one, moving with a speed rarely seen from it's element. It crashed into his ward with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, exploding so violently that the wash of flame blocked his view of the entire room for a few seconds.

But the shield didn't falter. The emphasis of fireballs was on area of effect damage, not armour penetration, and so Malkoran was able to sweep the flames away and behold the young girl stood in the doorway. He grinned. "Destroy her!" He commanded, and the shades around the room tore up the central channel towards her.

The girl took a caster's stance, breathed in, and then on her exhale thrust her arms out towards the oncoming horde. The sheer magnitude of power that emerged from such a petite figure startled him. A torrent of golden fire rushed to meet the shades, filling the entire corridor and spilling out into the chamber where Malkoran waited. They weren't ordinary flames either; with a start, Malkoran recognised the golden hue of a restoration oriented spell. _Fascinating..._

Eventually, the attack cut out, and he walked forwards. The shades were all destroyed, of course, their bleached bones hissing and crunching beneath his feet as he walked. But the girl was panting in exhaustion as her eyes locked onto him.

"Sun magic." He remarked, smirking. "Impressive. Were you a vigilant of Stendarr? A member of the Dawnguard perhaps? Or has Meridia become so lax with her secrets as to hand them out to you?"

"Neither." The girl grinned. "I just figured it out." He blinked, and she laughed. "Oh come on, religion doesn't get to call dibs on certain magics. Fires of death and fires of life are pretty similar once you get to the heart of it; and I mean heart literally. They're about _passion_."

"The heart, hmm?" Malkoran brought his own hands up, ice swirling in his palms. _You've wasted all your magicka on my minions, girl. Perhaps you could have fought me before, but not now._ "I'll make sure to keep yours in good condition as I kill you."

The girl tilted her head. "How, though? You're already dead."

Malkoran frowned, and then Dulurza swung her axe from behind and cut his head off.

* * *

The plan had been fairly simple. Using Cassia's first fireball as cover, Dulurza had rushed into the room and taken cover behind one of the great stone pillars. Cassia had destroyed the shades, baited their creator out, and Dulurza had circled around the pillar until she was behind him and taken her swing. He might have been on guard, but there was no way for him to hear her while she was muffled.

Dulurza walked over the necromancer's body, sheathed her axe, and admitted "Okay, that was impressive. You are damn good at making fire."

"I _am_, thank you." Cassia grinned cheekily. "I think that puts me ahead on kills."

"Oh, no. Firstly, they're already dead so they don't count." Dulurza protested. "Secondly, he was-"

She was interrupted when Cassia gasped, put her hands together, immediately summoned a globule of fire and hurled it right at her.

_Wait WHAT-_

Dulurza barely even had time to duck, but luckily she didn't need to.

The attack roared right over her head, and collided against something immediately behind her.

Turning, she saw another shade splitting into pieces and flying across the room. On the floor, Malkoran's corpse disintegrated.

"...Whew. That was close." Cassia sighed, relieved. "I told you I could do precision attacks when I wanted to-"

"What is _with_ your family!" Dulurza rounded on her, the top of her helmet glowing slightly and steaming. "Why is it every time I adventure with one of you there's a moment where I think you've betrayed me!"

"Well maybe you're just paranoid!"

"You SHOT A-"

**Alright, children, well done, you're finished. Yaaay...**A sarcastic clapping echoed throughout the chamber, alongside Meridia's voice. **This is all just...so underwhelming. Whatever, take the sword, get it to Alexander, and then I can throw _him_ up into the air and talk to him.**

"And we can use it to fix Elisif?" Dulurza called out.

**Yeah, sure, fine.** Meridia sighed. **Maybe killing a ghost will cheer me up. Bring the Dawnbreaker to her, I'll talk you through the process.**

"Thank you, lady Meridia." Cassia curtseyed. "We'll, uh...we'll tell everyone how impressive your temple is?"

**You're damn right you will!**

"You know everything made so much more sense back in Mor Khazgor..." Dulurza complained. She walked up to the altar, and drew Dawnbreaker from it's pedestal.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar, dressed in a poor-fitting cloak, looked at Igmund.

Igmund, dressed in his pyjamas, looked at Hjar.

Then Igmund opened his mouth and Hjar pounced, and he brought his arms up and she dropped on top of him, putting an elbow in his face, he grunted and collapsed under her weight and they both crashed down onto the floor. Igmund's head hit the hard stone with a crack, and while he was groaning and disoriented, she reached into her belt and drew a knife, putting it to his throat.

"Cry out, and I slit your throat." She painted.

"Aren't-ngh-you going to anyway?" The man grit his teeth, slowly refocusing on her. Nevertheless, he ceased his struggling.

"Hah. Let me guess, you've expected this to happen for a while now?" Hjar shifted her position on top of him, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.

"Go ahead then." He spat. Not literally, she probably would have drawn her blade across if he had. "Kill me, the same way you bastards killed my father."

Hjar scoffed. "Tch. It's always about revenge with you people, isn't it?"

"Hah!" Igmund smiled. "Don't act so superior. What besides revenge brings _you_ here?" He tilted his head, a difficult act when it was pressed against the floor. "You're young. Let me guess. Escaped the city when the Stormcloaks freed it from you?"

"I was a _babe_." She snarled. "And you Nord _bastards_ would have killed me too if my parents hadn't-" she stopped. Thought. "Huh. You are right about the revenge thing, I apologise."

He opened his mouth to reply and she leaned back down, pushing the knife against his throat until it drew blood. "I do have one question, though. Braig. An old git, you threw him in Cidnah mine. He claims you had his daughter killed just for defending him, when she was ten years old. That true?"

Igmund looked at her for a moment. Then he chuckled. "Braig? Oh, I remember that bastard. You know, there wasn't much proof he was with the Reachmen. His daughter, all young innocent looking, came up to the keep and pleaded for her pa's life. I thought 'here's an opportunity for some good publicity. Convince some of the sensible Bretons that I can be reasonable. Stop them being radicalised.' So I said I would hear her out, scheduled a meeting, sat down at a table with her."

His expression turned to disgust. "The little rodent tried to stab me with a kitchen knife. Want to see the scar I got to remember her by?" He reaches up with one hand, yanking down the collar of his nightclothes. There was a great jagged gash from shoulder to centre-breast.

_ Inconclusive evidence. That could be from anything._ Said the rational part of Hjar's brain. But the rest of her...

"That's the day I learned the folly of _reasoning_ with you people." Igmund's eyes were full of hatred. "You'd never be satisfied. You don't even know what you want, do you? You just rip and tear at anything anyone else has built. Nothing but a wild animal! And the only way to put an end to it is to stamp you all out. So aye, I killed that little bitch. And the look of surprise on Braig's face when he heard was the only reason I didn't have him flayed to death too."

Hjar didn't move for a long time, just staring into Igmund's eyes. He stared right back, unflinching. Then she sighed. "You know, you talk a lot of sense." She leaned backwards, enjoying the confusion in his gaze. "Yeah. Weren't expecting that, were you? You're right. There's not an innocent man, woman or child in this city." She leaned back in. "But that includes you, asshole. The man that made a promise to a militia to save his city, and then backed out on it the moment a bigger bully showed up. Who lets one family with full coffers run half his city, and somehow didn't realise the people he hates the most were running the other half. Or maybe you did, and just refused to admit it to yourself." At this point Hjar had literally no idea what was coming out of her mouth, it was just a stream of consciousness that was leading somewhere but she couldn't tell where yet, and whatever the end result was, it was going to be _huge_.

"So, stamp them all out, huh?" _Molag Bal dominates. Hircine hunts. What do I do?_ "Alright. I will. And I'm starting right here."

She adjusted her grip on the knife-

There was a rapping on the metal door, echoing through the chamber. "My Jarl!" Faleen's voice called through. "Are you alright in there?"

Hjar's head jerked up to the door for a split second, and Igmund moved. His knee surged upwards, catching her in the stomach, and his arms grabbed hers and shoved, sending her toppling backwards. She flailed with the knife, drew blood across one arm, and then he punched her hard across the face, breaking her jaw, and hurled her against the table. She crashed into it, knocking a chair and mug over as she collapsed to the floor.

Stumbling back, Igmund turned towards the door, shouting "FALEEN! GET IN HERE, I'M BEING-"

He cut off abruptly. That probably had something to do with the dagger sticking out of his throat.

Hjar, still on the floor half a room away, lowered her outstretched arm. "Blood and silver." She said, simply.

Igmund gargled, and then collapsed.

"MY JARL!" Faleen's voice called from the other side of the door, along with a cacophony of others, and Hjar jolted to action. She stumbled to her feet, looked at Igmund, the door, and then swore loudly, slurring the word around her jaw._ Knew there was no way this would just go to plan-_

The sound of running water drew her attention and she turned, then blinked in surprise. Igmund had a damn _waterfall_ in the back of his room.

_He must have to get up to piss a lot in the night,_ said the part of her that was trying not to have a panic attack, and she started running deeper into the room. The Jarl had only bothered to excavate half his room; the waterfall came from some passage in the rock and ran down in a rapid stream through the cave, before vanishing into...

_Oh absolutely not._

The door slammed open behind her and she moved, darting behind the raised dais where Igmund's bed sat as guards began to rush into the room.

There was enough of a gap in the rocks for the water to pass through. A big enough gap for her. But she had no idea where this led, no idea if it went _anywhere_, for all she knew it shrank until there was nowhere to go and she was stuck under the pressure of the water, just the _thought_ was enough to have bile rising in her throat-

But the alternative was a werewolf tearing through Understone Keep.

_This was so not what I wanted to happen when I came to get my people back-_

Hjarnagredda sucked in a breath, then dove into the stream just before the guards turned the corner.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander Meteuse crept up behind the ghost, which was knelt on an outcropping of stone and casting a beam of purple light across a small chasm. On the other side, a dark figure floated within a glowing purple sphere. It was adorned in ancient robes that must have been incredibly fine when it was first crafted, but now hung tattered and limp about its thin frame. What little flesh was visible was cracked, fetid and rotting, and it's face was covered by an impassive grey mask. A staff, ornate and three pronged with a sphere of blue power at its tip, was gripped tightly in it's hand.

Morokei's taunting had continued throughout the dungeon, yet now he remained conspicuously silent, and showed no sign of recognising Xander's presence at all.

_That purple energy...it's the same that Savos was using to try and control the Eye._

Xander stood behind the hooded ghost for a few seconds, before walking up and crouching beside it. After a moment, it turned to face him.

"Hey." He said, quietly.

"_...Greetings, mage._" It replied, hoarsely. It was a woman, he saw, though features were hard to make out. "_I am Atmah, apprentice at the college of Winterhold. Or...I was._"

"Alexander." He replied. "Me too." He looked across the chasm. "What..._is_ this?"

"_A monument...to all our sins._" Atmah replied. "_I...led a party of apprentices on an expedition here. I do not know how long ago...it has been so long...we stole the Torc of Labyrinthian from our betters...We believed that great magical power could be found here..._" a rasping laugh came from her mouth. "_We were right_." She turned her head, looking down to where another hooded figure knelt, just like her. "_Hafnar, my good friend...together, he and I seal this foul priest here. Girduin, Elvali, Takes-In-Light...all died. Savos...was the only one to escape. He...left us..._"

_Oh, damn_. Xander swallowed. "He became Archmage." He told her. "He...he's dead."

"_Savos too...?_" Atmah looked down. "_A shame...his face as he ran away...so guilty, but...I was more than willing to give my life for him to flee. This was all...my fault..._" She looked back up at Xander. "_Do you intend to release this monster?_"

He winced. "I don't want to. But I need that staff."

"_Then...I must fight you_." Atmah moved to stand. "_I cannot allow it...to ravage the surface_-"

"_Wait_, wait wait wait, listen." Xander put a hand on her shoulder. Surprisingly, she was tangible enough for him to push back down. "Savos was the one that sent me down here. Winterhold is being ravaged by the Eye of Magnus; without the staff, the College will be destroyed. Skyrim might go with it."

"_Savos should have known...no mage can overcome this enemy_." Atmah told him.

Xander gave one of his patented winning smiles. "Good thing I'm not a mage, then. Savos gave me the Torc. He trusted that I can do this. Can you?"

Atmah looked at him. "_If we continue to hold it here...Skyrim will fall anyway...?_"

"Yep. And given that the dragons are also back, if we _did_ let him out it would basically just be a footnote in the apocalypse."

"_Hmm...Then there is no point to wasting more time..._"

Atmah moved to stand again, and this time Xander let her.

"_We will release it._" She declared, the hesitation in her voice gone. "_We will attempt to aid you, but we will likely be destroyed quickly. That is fine. We have lived for too long. Do you need to prepare?_"

"Oh, right, okay, we're doing this-" Xander got to his feet along with her, coughed, and checked his equipment. "No, I've already prepared. Let's go, before I lose my nerve."

"_Very well._" Atmah raised her arms, and below her, the man (Hafnar?) did the same in exact unison. The purple glow around them intensified.

"_You may want to stand back._" She warned.

"Are you about to explode?" Xander asked, backing up rapidly.

The ghost of a smile _(Hah! Ghost-)_ became visible on the Redguard's face. "_Not exactly_."

There was a flash-

And then nothing.

And then something again.

Or more specifically, twin bolts of light flew down the purple streams from the two wizards to strike dead-on the Dragon Priest's bubble. With a flash, the streams, and the shield, vanished in an instant.

And Morokei moved like a lightning bolt.

His staff whipped upwards and discharged a beam of energy straight at Atmah, blue magic punching through her chest and immediately disintegrating her into a cloud of mist. Some flew free, some was sucked up into the beam.

_Oh, that's why she wanted me to move ba-OH GODS-_

Morokei swung the staff around and the beam scythed through the air towards Xander.

Panicking, he dove, hurling himself off the top level of the structure and immediately regretting it-

He barely remembered what Hjar the werewolf had taught him and tucked himself over one shoulder as he fell, but he still slammed into far too hard stone far too fast, drawing a line of sharp pain up across his whole body and stumbling back up to his feet. Now he was on the level of Hafnar, who was blasting bolts of lightning at Morokei at a rapid pace.

It didn't last. The priest flicked his off-hand and a swirl of darkness appeared, a Storm Atronach appearing out of it to catch the next lightning bolt on its own body.

_Oh, look. It's the spell I spent three hundred septims for a scroll of. Done casually._

The Atronach clapped it's hands, and a bolt of lightning took Hafnar in the chest, destroying him in an instant. Then Xander was alone, and both enemies turned on him.

_Oh no_. He put his hands to his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Three purple soul gems of various sizes, set up in various places across the room, glowed to life.

Morokei's mask darted up to see them just before all three began bombarding him with fireballs.

"I liked your trap!" Xander shouted. "Mind if I use it against you?"

Another blast of blue energy answered him, and he ducked behind a stone pillar, wincing. The Storm Atronach approached him, floating across the bridge that linked his structure to Morokei's, and he ducked even further around the pillar to dodge the lightning bolts it peppered him with.

_Not good, not good, not good..._

He reached into his satchel, and withdrew the fourth soul gem he'd retrieved from earlier on in the dungeon. Taking a deep breath, he darted out from behind cover, pulsed a spark of magic into the gem and tossed it along the floor.

It clinked to a stop at the feet (_feet? It doesn't have feet-_) of the Atronach, which ignored it, raising its hands again-

Before an explosion of cold tore up from beneath it, the gem shattering into shrapnel and coating the bridge in ice.

The Atronach staggered and Xander charged in with a cry of rage, drawing his ebony sword and swinging it hard at the daedra's centre mass.

The blade landed, forced the thing to float back briefly, but hardly penetrated into the rocks that made the thing up.

_Oh, yeah, don't use a slashing weapon against a STONE CREATURE-_

He stumbled past it, slipping on the ice _he'd made _and dragging his sword along stone with a horrible screeching noise that set his teeth on edge. The storm cloak around it stung him in a dozen places, every hair on his body standing on end, and then the Atronach spun and bashed him with one of its arms. He was knocked off his feet, and crashed to the floor in the middle of the bridge.

Ahead of him, Morokei looked more angry than damaged by the onslaught of flames. His staff sucked up the fireballs before they could reach him, and it's beam tore through the room, catching each soul gem individually and causing them all to implode.

The Dragon priest looked down at Xander-

Who had an idea.

Grimacing, he forced himself to his feet, and focused his attention on the light of the sun and stars so high above. Blue light glowed in his hands.

The Atronach bellowed from behind him, and he spun around, _no time_, bringing his hands up as another bolt of lightning streaked towards him-

And crashed into a shield of blue light.

Xander's eyes widened; even as the pain of his magicka circuits frying was indescribable, even as the shield before him shattered entirely under the force of the spell...

_I did it. I did it! I made a ward!_

And now he was completely empty. But Morokei didn't know that.

The priest laughed gutturally as Xander turned back to it. "_Mey._" It declared, 'fool' in the dragon tongue. "_No mage's shield can protect them from me. The man who sent you here was no exception_."

"Savos? Oh, I'm _nothing_ like him." Xander grinned.

Morokei didn't hesitate. He simply pointed the staff of Magnus at Xander and fired.

_Just as planned._

Xander didn't bother trying to block that with his nonexistent remaining magicka. He simply inhaled, and Shouted "**FEIM!**"

His body turned ethereal. The beam tore straight through his stomach, and into the Storm Atronach behind him.

The blast of energy made the daedra groan in anguish. The storm within it swirled into the beam itself, and the stones fell away from the collective whole and crashed down onto the frozen bridge, lifeless.

Xander, throat burning (not doing that again today-) redrew his sword, and charged.

Morokei's face wasn't visible. But it still looked absolutely furious. "_YOU DARE!_" It roared. Magic grew in it's offhand, but this time it directed it downwards. An enormous thunderbolt tore down into the stones of the bridge, and the entire structure rumbled.

Xander's stomach lurched as the bridge cracked. Morokei fired again, again, again, and the bridge split in a dozen places before tumbling down onto the dirt and water below.

Xander may have been immune to magic and immune to pain but he wasn't immune to _gravity_, he fell completely uncontrolled along with his support while swearing incredibly shrilly. His feet slipped on the (still) ice covered stone, and he went head over heels, back cracking into a slab of rock before he rolled to a stop on the ground. It didn't hurt, but it was still disorienting, and he groaned while trying to find his feet, barely able to get to his knees. That was when his etherealness decided to run out.

"_You dare to wield the power of my masters against me?_" Morokei howled. "_You pitiful men with your endless audacity, daring to claim the divine right of the living Gods!_"

Xander glared at the floor. "Oh, that's rich, coming from the zombie who rules in their place!" He turned back, shoving himself up to his feet and drawing two staves from his back. The staff of turn undead and the staff of fear both fired at once, bolts of light streaking towards Morokei.

They certainly hit him.

"_SAHLO!_" 'Weak', the priest declared, tossing out idle flashes of lightning. They didn't even target Xander, instead striking his staves and splintering them into pieces. He screamed, shrapnel digging into his skin and making him collapse onto his back, dropping the ruined remains of his weapons.

"_Hmph. As expected_." Morokei floated over to the edge of his platform, but did not deign to move down the stairs to Xander's level. "_Many mages have tried to challenge me over the centuries. From whence do you think I obtained this staff? All had their own ideas, their own specialties, their own little tricks. But in the end, when faced with true power?_" It levelled the staff at Xander. "_You are nothing_."

Xander tried to get up, but his exhaustion was catching up to him. His arms shook, and couldn't seem to bear his weight. Everything was aching, and he couldn't do anything but sag against the ground beneath him.

The staff began to glow, and he grimaced, shuttling his eyes.

_Damnit..._

The staff of Magnus fired, and the beam of light took him flat in the stomach.

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen crouched down in front of the great stone tablet, and slowly breathed out the word "Fascinating..."

The writing was minuscule, but it very clearly had a list of individual symbols, and then a set of words, then strings of words, then full sentences. And on the opposite side, the exact same thing, but a different set of symbols and words.

_It's a comparison. A translation. One side Dwemer, and the other side...Falmer._ She stood up, and looked around.

She was hardly educated enough to know exactly what the purpose of this room was, but she could guess. From the paintings, artwork, and memorabilia that all seemed out of place with the Dwarven style, the diagrams of Elven biology, maps of cities long gone...

_How ironic. Calcelmo built a museum of the Dwemer in Understone, yet Nzchuand-Zel contains a museum of the Falmer._

Presumably, the Dwarves had wanted to maintain some record of the people that they had destroyed. And then they had been destroyed in turn...

"Fascinating." She repeated aloud, turning around. "An entire culture. A people, from so long ago...heh. Khajiit begins to understand how these researchers become so curious." She walked up to one side, where a statue of a Falmer rested on a pedestal. A small thing, it sat cross-legged, with gems for eyes. Strangely, the plague beneath it that would presumably provide some context had been pried off of the wall._ Odd. I did not think Calcelmo would be so disrespectful..._

"L'laarzen has killed many of what your species has become." She told the statue. "She truly regrets it. It is saddening, to see such a mighty race driven to such an ignoble end...but as an apology, Khajiit promises to remember you." She smiled, sadly, not entirely sure _what_ she really wanted, but... "L'laarzen may have to kill the Falmer. But she will try to save the Snow Elves."

Satisfied, she turned back to Calcelmo's workstation. There was an abundance of paper rolls and charcoal, and she grabbed and unfurled one. Crouching back before the translation stone, she got to work producing a copy.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Alexander Meteuse cried out in pain. The moment the staff touched him, his entire magicka system lit up and stung, every residual drop of energy being wrenched out of it.

He finally understood why the staff was so coveted, and so feared; it _consumed_ magic. Drained it from the subject, absorbing spells, sapping at their energy until the greatest mage was reduced to...reduced to...

_...Hold on a minute._

Xander opened his eyes. Flexed his fingers.

And then he stood up.

Morokei jerked backwards a little as Xander got to his feet, swinging his arms around and cracking his neck as one of the strongest magical artefacts in Mundus blasted into his chest. "_What..?_"

"_Nid._" Xander spoke. "Nothing. You're damn right I am. Ah, Divines, that _stings_..." he started giggling. "Hehehe, just a little more than it stung _every day_ while I was growing up. Really, is this all you can do?" He started walking forwards.

"_Impossible_." Morokei declared, continuing to fire the staff as he floated slowly backwards. "_No mage can possibly tolerate the pain of-_"

"Total magicka exhaustion?" Xander scoffed. He began to climb the stairs. "Such an overdramatic name, don't you think?" Most mages would never fall to that point except in dire situations. Even when trying to grow their reserves, there was no point, it would be like a warrior deliberately going too far and pulling their muscles during training.

But Xander had the magicka capacity of an Orc teenager. He pushed himself to that point with five seconds of a basic healing spell.

"There are three things you failed to realise, 'Glorious'." Xander said, topping the stairs and striding towards the dragon priest. The heat of the staff was burning a hole in the fabric of the clothes at his chest. He ignored it. "Firstly; never underestimate the ingenuity of us mages. We define ourselves by being able to learn. To grow. You thought you could leave Savos to escape for decades and he wouldn't find a way to stop you? Are you arrogant, or just stupid?"

Morokei found it's back pressed against the stone, as Xander just pressed closer and closer.

"Second; don't compare me to the 'pathetic mortals' you've slain before me." The grin on Xander's face was taking on a manic gleam, highlighted even further by the stark spell-light. "I'm not some second-rate magical apprentice, priest. I'm a _God_ in the making! Revel in the honour, you religious fool; your entire life has led up to the point where you would be but a stepping stone in my ascension! When I have rewritten the laws of the universe to my will, the footnote that Morokei was a Dragon Priest will be the only reason anyone even remembers Dragons!"

He spread his arms and laughed, tossing his head back as he guffawed under the rush of adrenaline.

As the staff's assault on his system continued, as his broken and beaten cells of magicka were pushed beyond what they should ever be forced to bear...

Something very important inside Xander was lost forever.

Finally, Morokei let the beam end, the staff dangling limply from his side as he beheld the monster before him. "_Who...are you?_" The Dragon priest rasped.

"I am Alexander Meteuse." Xander replied, returning his hands to his hips. "And I still have one last thing you failed to realise, Morokei. Thirdly, and finally," He gripped the hilt of his blade. All the drama vanished from his voice, and he casually remarked "If you'd just shot me with lightning at any point during that, I'd've died. Who's the '_Mey_' now?"

Morokei stared for a full second. Then, startled out of its reverie, it's arm jerked up-

"Too late." Xander drew his sword and swung it, and lopped the limb off at the shoulder. Morokei screamed, sagging against the wall behind it, as Xander drew back,

Smiled,

Then buried his sword in it's throat.

* * *

***Raucous applause*  
Xander triumphs! Just FYI I'd like to take the time to credit Ymfah's YouTube masterpiece 'how to beat the college of winterhold without magic' as a big inspiration for a lot of Xander's stunts. I did plan a scene where he lured the wispmother to open the fire door for him, but cut it because this chapter's too long as it is. A few of you spotted his unique 'resistance' to the Staff of Magnus, but seemed to think that alone would make the fight laughably easy.**

**It didn't. This is a semi-realistic interpretation people; if Xander takes a firebolt to the face without protection he's going to die.**

**Elsewhere, L'laarzen is coming to terms with That Time She Commit A Massacre. Dulurza and Cassia are...having a surprisingly simple time of it cranking through the Meridia quest. Huh. Sure hope nothing bad happens to them...**

**And Hjar. Ah, Hjar. Making a particularly big choice with some particularly big consequences. This is the first time we've taken a long step outside of the ordinary bounds of the questlines we're partaking in. It won't be the last, and the full-on assassination of a Jarl WILL have consequences. For Hjar personally, for the Reach, and for Skyrim as a whole. For now though, she just needs to survive.**

**Next Time: Someone gets wet, someone falls from a high place, and someone makes one hell of an entrance.**


	23. Going Home

**Going Home**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Cassia and Dulurza had not been flashily teleported out of the sanctum to the summit of the mountain, which meant that they'd had to walk the whole way back up through the temple.

Neither of them was very happy about this.

"I gotta admit, I was kind of expecting...more." Cassia panted, climbing up yet another set of stairs.

"How do you mean?" Dulurza asked, not struggling in the slightest.

"I mean I just did a dungeon crawl." Cassia explained. "Adventurers do those all the time. They're supposed to be epic and dramatic, but this just felt...underwhelming."

There was a cough from all around them and she amended "The temple was great! The architecture was awesome, but, the _challenge_ wasn't very epic."

Meridia seemed content to allow that.

"Well trust me, you'll get used to it." Dulurza told her, pulling open a pair of doors and stepping into the outside air. "To be honest, just about every other adventure I've gotten roped up in has been punctuated by some epic final clash or dramatic revelation. I'm glad that for once, I've had a dungeon crawl where nothing unexpected...happened..." she stopped.

Cassia almost bumped into the back of her, then peeked round to see what she was looking at.

"Hey little sis." Borgakh grinned, sat leaning against Meridia's statue. "Been too long."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ **

Hjar's body crashed into a rough stone outcropping, and she immediately realised she'd made a Very Bad Decision.

The water roared around her, fast and deafening, forcing her forwards through the passage and deeper into the stone of the mountain. She had shut her eyes (her surroundings were pitch-black anyway) and only had her sense of touch to guide her. Which was a problem. Because her sense of touch was telling her _pain_.

The water could have been nice enough to smoothen the rock for her, and while it had (to a degree) at the bottom of the narrow passage she was being dragged through, the water wasn't actually completely filling the space. There was a thin sliver of air just at the top of the passage, but that meant the stone above her was sharp, pitted and cracked, and the water frothed and bubbled in the space. She hadn't dared to try and surface and take a breath, not at the speed she was going, and her ineffectual scrabblings has only served to leave lacerations across both arms, not slow her down.

This was bad, because she was running out of air.

Hjar eventually elected to try to shield her head with both hands (why did I decide to go down the death waterslide _head first_) and kick herself further down the passage with her legs, wincing every time a knee or foot cracked against a stone outcropping.

_Come on, come on. There are waterways in the city, this has to lead there. Or maybe to the ones outside the excavation? Hircine, I can't even _think_ in here! How far have I even gone? How fast am I going?_

It felt fast, but she had no frame of reference, no idea if she'd turned or she was still heading directly out of Understone. Direction was near impossible to determine as well, but she thought she was still going downwards. How far down? Would she come out in the city, or was she just falling deeper and deeper into the earth, her passage taking her down into the very crust of Mundus as the light of the sun grew farther and farther and-

_Stop thinking about it, don't think about it, don't think about how your lungs are starting to throb either, just try to minimise movement and pray that-_

A wall of stone slammed into her stomach.

The impact forced her mouth open, and any air she'd kept in her lungs was gone in an instant. Water filled her mouth, went up her nose, and it was all she could do to stop herself swallowing.

_Oh dear lord it's stopped, that's the end, I'm going to-_

_Wait. Calm down. It hit my stomach. I was going _head _first._

A wriggle confirmed her suspicions; she hadn't hit the end, there was merely a bar of stone stretching between either wall of the passage. The water flowed past it, her head was _already_ past it, and as her lungs burned she frantically scrambled and forced herself through the tiny opening between it's top and the ceiling. Her back scraped against the roof and she tried not to scream again, pulling her torso, then legs through and continuing.

_Now or never, come on, come on-_

The passage was tightening even further, she could have sworn another had branched off at some point, she was now having to forcibly pull herself through the gaps in the rock,

_Have to be nearly there now, and-Wait. Is that light?_

That was when her body stuck again.

She opened her eyes and regretted it, the water stung, as did the dozens of shards of rock she'd disturbed on her way through. But she could see, dim shapes in her way in the darkness, meaning there must be some source of light ahead of her if she could just _reach_ it.

But she couldn't reach it. Three or more large stone outcroppings stuck out in the tunnel, entangling her legs, arms, and jamming into one shoulder. She tried to wriggle past, but couldn't, there just wasn't the room.

_No. No, no, come on-_

Her lungs were on fire, her head was throbbing, she had no idea how long it had been since she'd last taken a breath. She heaved against the stone in the way, heaved again, but it didn't budge.

The claustrophobia was intense, nothing but stone on all sides and the water rushing past her, she couldn't move, _let me out let me out-_

The wolf inside her howled, and she forced some of her attention inwards to clamp down on it. As much as the extra strength would be lovely, she did not need to grow almost double her body mass right now, shuddered to think what that would even do to her without the space to transform.

_Come on, come on, don't let me die here I REFUSE TO DIE HERE-_

She heaved, heaved again, then backed up and forcibly started ramming her body into the stone in her way, desperation the only thing fuelling her movements, even as the exhaustion made the pain in her lungs intensify even further.

She couldn't continue. She had to take a breath, had to at least try-

There was a cracking noise. Not from her, there had been plenty of those already, from the stone.

Hope and fear the only things she could even process, Hjar slammed herself into the rock again, again, and-

With another loud crack, one of the outcroppings gave way, tumbling ahead of her down the passage. She scrambled forwards, contorting her body to slip around the remaining and after it, finally free, as the light against her eyelids intensified-

And suddenly, the stone was gone.

There was a brief moment of vertigo, nothing above, beneath or around her, just spraying water and air-

She sucked in a single, choked breath.

Then hit the water of the canal with an echoing splash.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

A pair of stone double doors in Labyrinthian were thrown open, slamming very dramatically against either wall. Through it strode an Elven man in black hooded robes.

"Ah, there you are." The Mer smirked. "I'm so glad we could-BY THE EIGHT-"

Xander tilted his head, watching the Elf stumble backwards. "What are you-oh, right, the mask." He pulled off Morokei's visage, revealing his face. "Sorry, it just looked really cool, I couldn't help it. Plus, you know. Look at me." He gestured to his own face. It was covered in scars and burn marks, puffing up red.

"Ngh-well, good then." The elf straightened, coughing. "I am Estormo. Ancano sent me a message that you would be here."

"Ancan-who?" Xander asked.

"An-Ancano? The-"

"How did you even get down here? I thought you needed the Torc to-"

"You left the door unlocked."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, that makes sense..."

Xander nodded in enlightenment, and Estormo sighed. "It-Whatever. Point is, I will be requiring that staff now."

Xander hefted the staff in his right hand, looking at it. He couldn't for the life of him tell whether Magnus' tool was made of wood or metal, or how the magic swirling about it's tip functioned. _This is going to require some serious studying..._

"Yeah...no?"

"I thought you might say that." Magic flashed into existence in Estormo's hands. "But you would be a fool to refuse. I am a justiciar of the Thalmor, boy. I am a greater mage than any apprentice who could ever rise from your pathetic northern-"

Xander shot the staff at him.

Estormo was quick to raise a ward, but the blast of magicka-consuming light tore straight through it, striking the Altmer in the chest and making him gasp in pain.

Xander gasped as well, but not for the same reason.

Magical energy flooded up into him, passing through the staff up through his hand and revitalising his smarting reserves. It was...power. More power than he'd ever felt in his life. Now his body was throbbing again, but the pain was of his circuits expanding to absorb the magicka of a fully grown professional Elven mage.

Idly, he stretched his other arm out, feeling the magic dance between his fingers.

_I can...I can do anything..._

He picked a spell, clenched his fingers together, and then cast it.

A purple swirl appeared in front of him, and the air intensified with electricity as a being of lightning and stone rose from a portal to another realm.

_A Storm Atronach. And this time...I'm casting it by myself. _Really _casting it. Sure, I'm not using my own magicka to do it, but..._

He started giggling helplessly, as his summon turned to him for orders. "Hehehe...I have memorised _so many_ spells...and now I can _cast_ them." He glanced over at Estormo, halting the staff's attack and asking "Did you really not expect me to do that? You decided to challenge someone with a powerful magical staff and you didn't consider him using it against you?"

Estormo whimpered weakly, sagged against the doorframe.

"Informative." Xander looked at the Atronach, and tilted his head meaningfully at the Altmer.

It slammed it's hands together, and put a bolt of lightning into Estormo's face, sending him tumbling back into to the next room.

Annoyingly, the extra magicka Xander had consumed didn't want to stay. He could feel it draining out of his body, his skin prickling as he dropped back down to his previous reserves.

"Annoying...Thank you very much, you're free to go." Xander lowered his head respectfully to the Atronach (respect is important), and let it disassemble as he walked on. He needed to get back to Winterhold, and he needed to get there fast.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza stared in surprise at her older sister. "Borgakh? You...how did you know I was here?"

Borgakh pointed a finger back at the statue as she pushed herself off it. "Was on my way to Solitude when this thing lit up like a lighthouse. I would have checked it out anyway, but thought the odds you were involved were high." She grinned. "Guess I was right. What're you doing out here? I could've sworn you were busy with something important."

Cassia looked between the two of them, eyes wide. "This is your sister? Wait, does she work for the Jarl too, or is she-"

"Not exactly." Dulurza grit her teeth. "Hey, fireball, is it okay if you go on ahead? Me and my sister need to have a family talk."

"Oh. Oh, okay, absolutely." Cassia backed up with a chuckle. "I've had plenty of _those_ growing up. Uh, I'll wait for you at the gates to Solitude if you haven't caught up by then, okay?"

"Sure. Go on."

With that incredibly awkward goodbye, Cassia walked on down the mountain path.

A minute or so later, when they were definitely alone, Borgakh asked "She work for Solitude? If she does, it might be easier for us to take her out now, blame it on whatever happened in your dungeon."

Dulurza winced. "No." She vetoed. "She's just a mercenary; she'll be long gone before we attack."

"Huh. If that's the case, she'll have to get gone pretty fast."

Dulurza glanced at Borgakh in confusion, and she elaborated "The attack. We're planning to make it tomorrow evening."

"What?" Dulurza gaped. "Already?"

"It's only a day ahead of schedule." Borgakh chuckled. "Father told you when you could expect it, aye?"

"He did. I just...lost track of time..." Dulurza looked off into the distance. Solitude was visible from their vantage point, the outcropping where it lied dwarfing other features in the landscape.

"Of course, that all depends on you." Borgakh continued, oblivious. "We can put it off for a day or two if that's what you need to get that Jarl of theirs outside the walls. I wouldn't wait if I were you though. The tribe's getting restless, and if they start hovering near the walls it's only so long before they're seen."

Dulurza exhaled, heavily. "Right." She nodded. "Of course, I...I might not be able to get her completely alone. Her housecarl, uh, that's a Nord bodyguard, he almost never leaves her side, and after the madness that's happened recently she can hardly go anywhere without a squadron of guards-"

"Ah, but that's where your genius big sister comes in!" Borgakh clapped an arm around Dulurza's shoulders, making her flinch. "These next few days, I'm your point of contact and your backup! There's a few nice spots in the woods near the city that me and a few of the boys have picked out. I'll take you to them on the way there. Pick one, let me know in advance, get the bitch there, and a full five of us will be waiting to ambush her. With you alongside us, it might even be better if you can get some of the guards to come with. It'd make the next part easier."

"Y-yeah..." Dulurza frowned. _I'm bound to have to kill Bolgier at some point...suppose I should get it out of the way..._She recalled the face of one of the few sane people in the palace, and her gut twisted.

Borgakh noticed, and frowned. "You alright sis? Not getting cold feet are you?"

"What? No, no, I'm fine." Dulurza shook her head, and tried to smile. "Just...some shell-shock from a stray fireball back in the temple, it'll be gone by the time I get back."

"Friendly fire? Malacath, what an outrage. You sure you don't want to kill that girl first-"

"I'm _sure_." Dulurza cut across, shoving her sister's arm off her with a huff.

"Alright, fine." Borgakh scrutinised her face for a moment, before shrugging. "Well, it's your mission. But you _can_ get the Jarl out, right?"

"Aye." Dulurza replied, hollowly. "I can get her out."

* * *

**8˂**

The head of a bloodied, broken, beaten, bruised Breton burst from the surface of one of Markarth's waterways.

Hjar took a series of desperate gulps of air, floundering in the water, blinking her stinging eyes and just managing to grab onto the edge of the canal, halting her progress.

She heaved, sagged, then heaved again, pulling herself up onto the side of the waterway. Then she put her arms beneath her, and heaved up the contents of her stomach onto the stone. At this point, that was mostly just dirty water. It was only after thirty seconds or so of that that she allowed herself to collapse onto her side, curling up into the foetal position and shivering.

_Okay...in hindsight...should have just let the wolf loose in the keep._

She lay there for a few seconds, trying to stabilise her breathing and take a stock of her injuries._ Jaw, fingers, ribs, lacerations everywhere, bruises...oh, I give up._

"To..." she coughed. "To any gods, ngh, anywhere who might be listening...a little help?"

She was answered by a shrill, cat-like scream, and then something crashed into the waterway next to her.

Hjar scrambled away as the water bubbled a bit, and then the sopping wet form of a Khajiit pulled itself up out of it.

"Haah...Once again, L'laarzen proves that this...waterproof bag was the best twenty septims...she ever spent..."

The Khajiit stood up and shook itself thoroughly, tossing water on everything nearby, before finally taking a look at it's surroundings and blinking. "Hjar?"

"_L'laarzen?_" Hjar gaped, trying to at least sit up. "What the-where did you just come from?"

"Calcelmo's tower." L'laarzen smiled brightly. "Khajiit was on her way out, saw a waterfall. Thought 'why not?'." She looked Hjar up and down, and her expression went from happy to concerned. "Oh, my dear, what _happened_ to you?"

"It's nothing." Hjar blatantly lied as the Khajiit rushed to her side, but then winced at a spike of pain in her jaw. "Okay, it's not nothing. It's everything. I just took the worst possible path out of Understone, and..._Ow_."

"You poor thing..." L'laarzen crouched down beside her, bringing up a simple healing spell in her hands and pointing it towards the wounds. It was nowhere near enough to repair her major injuries, but the pain started to ease. "Did the friend at least get the answers she was looking for?"

"No. Or, yes, but-" Hjar shook her head, trying to reorder her thoughts. _What even...oh, right. I killed the Jarl. Oh, Daedra, I just murdered the Jarl of Markarth_. It hadn't really registered the first time she'd agreed to do it; didn't really register now. But this was _big_. This was the kind of thing people wrote history books about.

"I got answers." She replied, eventually. "But...they just left me with more questions." Hjar's eyes glanced down from L'laarzen's face, and then they widened and snapped back up. "Um. For instance. Why are you naked?"

"Hm? Oh!" L'laarzen jumped back a step, moving arms to cover herself. "A thousand apologies! Only, unless I have enchanted equipment it is better that I not-"

"No, it's fine." Hjar chuckled, briefly feeling almost like a person again. "I, too, have been known to go about as nature intended." There was something in the back of her mind raising flags about a naked animal committing crimes...but now wasn't the time to pursue it. She looked up towards Understone Keep, where shouting could be heard over the roaring of the nearby waterfall. Said waterfall had concealed their presence thus far, along with the darkness and the lack of observers. But that wasn't going to last.

"You should go." Hjar advised. "Quickly. I...may have raised some alarms up there, and I think they'll probably want to close the city down. If you're fast, you might be able to beat the news to the front gate."

"Khajiit understands." L'laarzen nodded, before looking up and giggling. "Your hair has been thrown quite into disarray. L'laarzen shall have to fix that Mohawk for you another time, then. May your feet bring you to warm sands, and good luck!" With that, she waved, and scarpered off into the city. Hjar lost track of her within five seconds.

"Right then..." she gingerly got to her feet, crashing back onto her side the first time as she put too much weight on the wrong foot. _Should have gotten Alexander to teach me some healing spells..._but she could walk without limping, and stand tall if she was willing to ignore the pain. It was enough.

As guards armed with swords and torches flooded the city, Hjar made her way up to the Dwarven ruin. In her mind, she prepared herself to meet her family.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"Good session overall, I should think?"

"Oh, undoubtedly. The Jarl said yes to almost everything. I didn't dare _say_ it, but I wasn't even sure she was paying attention."

"Even compared to how passive she was before recent events, indeed."

"Until it came to Erikur's turn."

"Oh, yes. I almost pity the man. Though it was funny to watch the Jarl tear his idea to shreds."

"I don't think I've ever seen her that angry."

"She was troubled during our last meeting too...do you think she's ill, perhaps?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. Especially after the attack so recently by her Court Wizard..."

"I was impressed at her willingness to resume her duties so quickly, but..."

"Certainly wouldn't want her to hurt herself..."

Such words were the nobles speaking, as Dulurza and Cassia walked past them and up into the Blue Palace.

"You know, I've heard a lot of rumours about a lot of court scandals." Cassia whispered. "But somehow, actually knowing the _root_ of those scandals makes the rumours feel _even juicier_."

"Hm." Dulurza replied, noncommittally. Her thoughts were swirling around her head, and it was hard enough just to put one foot in front of the other.

Bolgier Bearclaw saw them approach, and without hesitation beckoned them to follow him, leading them to the Jarl's quarters. Worryingly, Elisif's voice could be heard even before the door was opened.

"I've tried reciting prayers, Styrr, I've recited everything I could think of, but not even my wedding vows were sacred enough to _shut her up_." Elisif was sat down with her head in her hands and a half-empty glass of wine by her side, but she quickly looked up the moment the trio came in. "Dulurza! Oh, thank the Nine-"

"Thank the _Eight_." Styrr reminded her, wincing-

"Styrr, in the privacy of my home I'll thank the damn Daedra if I want to." Elisif stood, and her gaze fell to the weapon sheathed at Dulurza's hip. "In fact, by the looks of things, the Daedra might be the most appropriate choice. Is that it?"

"Aye." Dulurza put one hand to the hilt of the sword. "This is it. Dawnbreaker." The gem at the top of the hilt glowed with golden light, which felt warm like the midday sun. Even the hilt itself felt hot, and Dulurza worried that if she tried to hold it for too long it would burn her.

"This is so, so not okay..." Styrr whimpered. "I'm just going to turn around and face the wall. That way when I'm called upon to explain this, I'll at least have some measure of deniability..."

Elisif herself froze in place for a moment, before a nervous smile broke out on her face. "Well, Potema is absolutely panicking in my head right now. Which I think is a good sign?"

"Let's hope." Cassia looked at the sword. "Lady Meridia? Mind talking so we can all hear you?"

There was a beat. Then,

**Oh, go on, let's break all the rules.** The voice emanated out from the blade, and Bolgier quickly shut the door to the rest of the Palace. **At this point I'm just excited to get to smite a ghost again, it's been so long!**

"My lady." Styrr warned, still looking at the wall. "I must warn you. If Potema feels threatened by this, she may...lash out. I cannot predict what may happen, but please, exercise the utmost caution."

Everyone else looked shiftily at each other. Bolgier loosened his weapon in it's sheath, and Cassia lit up some Restoration magic in her hands. Dulurza just looked to Elisif, who nodded. "I'm ready. Go ahead."

"Okay." Dulurza glanced down. "Meridia? What's the plan, step-by-step? And should I be handing this to either of the mages...?"

**Oh, no, you'll be quite sufficient.** Meridia's voice took on a patient, instructive tone.** First: unsheathe the blade.**

Dulurza did so. Dawnbreaker's steel (if it even was steel) came free with a beautiful metallic ring. The blade shimmered just like it's hilt, and with the curtains drawn closed it was the brightest thing in the room, illuminating the faces of everyone present with the light of dawn.

"Oh, she didn't like that." Elisif gulped, steeling herself, "I'd hurry. I think she's planning something."

"Right." Dulurza gripped the sword in both hands. "Meridia? Step two?"

**Step two:** Meridia answered calmly, **and this might be the difficult part.**

"I can handle it."

**Good! Stab her.**

Dulurza took a step forward-

Then froze.

"...What?"

**Stab her.** Meridia repeated. **With the Dawnbreaker, to be more specific, though really any old pointy thing would work. My blade is the optimum smiting tool, but there are alternatives.**

Dulurza looked down at the sword, back up at a shocked Elisif, back down, back up, and back down again. "...And step three?"

**There is no step three.**

"Stabbing her will kill her."

**Well obviously, yes. She'll be incinerated. That's what we're going for, right?**

The room fell into uproar. Styrr turned around and started shouting, Bolgier and Cassia threw their own exclamations into the mix, and Elisif stumbled backwards into her chair, pale-faced. The phrase that just about all of them said at one point was "_Do not set the Jarl on fire!"_

Dulurza slammed the Dawnbreaker back into its sheath, glaring at the sword. "That's it? That's all you can do?"

**Yes! Darling, I'm The Cleansing Light.** Meridia sounded offended. **If you have dirt on your floors, you can wipe off the dirt and keep the floors intact, of course. But if you have a _dirt floor_, your only resort is to dig the thing up and lay some proper stone in its place.**

"What does that even _mean_?"

**Haah...**Meridia sighed, her tone taking on that of someone lecturing to a child. **My dear, your Jarl and her passenger are Twin Souls. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it, it's a concept mainly used by necromancers (blegh) when trying to more effectively command larger numbers of undead. It means that they are bound together so tightly it is impossible to separate one from the other, and that bond will only grow stronger as time passes.**

Elisif had gone as white as a sheet, as Meridia continued:** Each feels what the other feels. Now that means pain, but moving forwards, it will be emotions. Thoughts. Memories. Eventually, they will become as one being. Or, more likely, that nasty witch-ghost will subjugate her host entirely and keep her locked up in a mental cage. I tried to have Potema killed a few hundred years ago, but the wench got caught up by one of the other Daedra she owed before I could get to her...**

There was an unladylike snort, and everyone turned to Elisif, who had clapped her hands in front of her mouth to poorly conceal a smile. "She's laughing." The Jarl croaked out, shoulders shaking. "She-hah! She can't stop laughing, and-and _I_ can't stop laughing-"

Styrr, Bolgier and Cassia all rushed in, but Dulurza just sagged back against the door. She felt exhausted.

**Pitiful.** Meridia remarked, sadly. **And it's no fault of the girl's own. If you do put her out of her misery, I assure you I will allow her soul free passage to the Aetherius. But that _ghost_ will get no such mercy-**

"Do me a favour." Dulurza said, through gritted teeth. "Shut. Up."

She closed her eyes, as the forced laughter of her Jarl echoed through the room.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

Winterhold laid empty. It's hearths were cold, it's doors left hanging open. It's people, however, were all gathered some miles away, in a ramshackle collection of tents along the road. People huddled together around quickly built fires (most lit by spell-fire), wrapped in the thickest coats they'd been able to bring before abandoning their city. Nord citizens and mages moved together, gathering supplies, erecting shelters, and trying not to get into fistfights. They were hardly working together out of choice; more an urgent sense of necessity, one that overrode the bitter rage that the former held for the latter.

It had been eighteen hours since they'd been forced to leave. They'd already had to move again once more since then. At the edge of it all, Mirabelle Ervine stood with her arms crossed, shivering, and watched the force-field expand. Her teeth chattered, and her eyes had deep bags underneath them. It had been almost twenty four hours since she'd slept.

"How's it looking?" A voice called from behind her.

She turned, and sighed. "Tolfdir. About as bad as you'd expect." She pointed her arm up into the distance. "If you look closely there, you can see that it's almost clipping the arm of the statue of Azura."

"Hmm..." He came up behind her and squinted. The great translucent blue sphere dwarfed the horizon. It had grown so large that it was impossible to see the whole shield at once, and they were still hundreds of metres away from it. "My old eyes can't quite tell, through the storm." He admitted. "Faralda believes that the magicka it radiates is disturbing the clouds in the sky, and that's what's causing this ghastly weather."

"Or it's just Skyrim being the fickle land she always is." Mirabelle sighed. "Neither would surprise me. This country's weather _is_ ridiculous, but that dome is certainly high enough to be touching the clouds...do we have an equation for its expansion rate yet?"

"Colette has a few that might hold true." Tolfdir sighed. "The most accurate thus far is the one that models the rate of volume increase as linearly increasing. That is, a constant acceleration. She reported from a trip to it's edge that it's widening more than fast enough to be seen by the naked eye now."

"Any new ways in?"

"We ran through that list of tests our first meeting came up with. Results are fairly conclusive. The barrier repels anything magical. Inorganic, and sufficiently simple organic life (that meaning plants) are all allowed through. Faralda took a variety of potency potions and tried to breach it with her spells, but no luck. We even got a volunteer from the city to be magicka-drained and then attempt to cross, but again, no luck." He glanced at her. "What about your end?"

Mirabelle sighed as well. "Korir looks about to have an aneurysm, but he's functioning surprisingly well. Losing his city seems to have taken the last of his pride, now he's just doing whatever he has to to keep his people safe. The apprentices are behaving themselves, which is good. Offering help to the citizens, running requests from officials to teachers and back again. We think everyone's accounted for, at least those who were in Winterhold when it happened. Oh, except Enthir, who vanished a few hours before we had to evacuate and nobody's seen him since. Never should have hired that slimy bastard..." she pinched her nose and groaned. "Letters have been sent to Jarl Ulfric, and then received again. I've undone months of careful neutrality in a moment, but he's declared he's willing to accept refugees into his city. Divines know what he'll want from us in return, though. I was about to go and speak to Korir about fully committing and making the evacuation to Windhelm."

"Well, Ulfric won't have long to extort our secrets out of us." Tolfdir replied, with some false cheer. "If Colette's models are correct, we have less than forty eight hours before it engulfs Windhelm and Dawnstar. Less than a day after that before it covers the whole of Skyrim."

"Damnit..." Mirabelle cursed. "And here we are. The greatest mages in the country, with no idea what to do..." She looked back up at the force field (several kilometres away, but growing closer by the second), and sighed again, turning back to the camp. "I'll tell Korir we need to move, get to Windhelm as fast as we can. We're just wasting time here. Deal with the cold trek, down sleeping droughts, pass out for eight hours and then wake up and find a way to deal with this. First though I want to send communiques to Whiterun and Morthal, they're the closest to Labyrinthian and that just might be our only-"

"ANOMALIES!"

The call came from somewhere in the camp, and was echoed half a dozen times. Mirabelle swore to herself and looked up, spotting four of the blue lights swirling through the sky towards them. They were released periodically in pulses from the College, and always there was a group that ended up drawn to the camp.

"Hold fast!" She shouted. She wasn't entirely sure what it meant, it was just a thing the Nords yelled a lot. "You know the plan! Lightning from a distance, fire if they get close! Shields and blunt weapons!"

The guards rushed up to the edge of the camp, forming ranks with the mages as they prepared to meet the threat.

Mirabelle tiredly prepared a lightning spell in her palms-

Only for a beam of blue light to blast through the air towards the anomalies. It scythed through one, two, then all four of them, making them unravel into nothingness in an instant.

Mirabelle turned around, tracking the beam to it's source...

Then her jaw dropped.

A figure strode out of the storm.

His robes resembled the finery of a Thalmor justiciar, but augmented by a thick black cloak that bloomed out behind him in the wind. One arm had a golden circlet worn above the elbow, while the opposite shoulder had a silver mask strapped to it, both somehow gleaming despite the low light. One hand rested on the pommel of a black sword, sheathed at his waist, while the other gripped tightly onto an ornate, humming staff.

A cloud of ice blew out from his lips, briefly concealing his face, before the wind snatched it away. His eyes were hard like steel, and his black hair was cut short and sharp, seemingly untouched by the weather. His mouth was set in a hard line.

He looked over the crowd as he walked, approaching the centre of the camp. "PEOPLE OF WINTERHOLD! DO NOT BE AFRAID!" He called. His lips quirked up into a smile. "I'm here to help."

Mirabelle Ervine was running before she even realised what she was doing, sliding to a stop in the snow not a foot in front of him. She felt the urge to bring up a hand and slap him, but suppressed it, settling on shouting "You've got some bloody cheek!" In his face.

Alexander Meteuse blinked, then broke into an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I suppose I am a little late. Um, about before-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish, running forwards and crashing into him. He stumbled back a step and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head to the side of his. "I'm so sorry." She whispered. "I should have caught you."

"...Oh." He replied. "Well, in your defence, I had just used ancient magic to turn myself intangible."

"That's no excuse." She gripped harder. "I should have...didn't mean to...I thought you were _dead_."

"Dead? Now don't be ridiculous. Nothing can kill me." He shifted, then gently lifted her away from him. "How about we sort this first, then explain later?"

She nodded, and he smiled, then inhaled and spoke once more to the crowd around them. "I'm going to bring down the barrier!" He declared. "You may as well return to your homes; there'll be no running away if this doesn't work! Mages, rally behind me! I'm going to stop this at its source, but more anomalies might be released while I'm doing so! And...one of you might need to pick the staff up if I fail."

With that, he strode forwards again.

People parted before him, muttering amongst themselves as they realised who he was, and allowing him to reach the edge of the camp.

There, he reached out and pointed his staff at the great wall of blue light stretching ahead of them.

A beam of energy blasted forth from the staff, striking into the barrier, and there was a loud crackling noise as the two powers interacted. Alexander hummed out the word "Interesting..." and twisted the staff.

Those watching gasped in amazement, as a great hole began to expand from the point of contact of the staff's beam. Eventually, when it was more than a hundred metres tall and wide, Xander pulled his weapon back. He casually waved his other hand, and an enormous wave of magical force blew outwards, ice and snow being blasted away to reveal the stone of the road beneath it.

"Now then!" He shouted. "Let's take our home back!"

With that, he started walking towards the College.

Mirabelle didn't hesitate a second before following after him.

* * *

**Oh, I'm an awful person. What, did you think I would have Dulurza point the sword at Elisif and magically solve her problems? It's a _sword. _Meridia is a _Daedra._ It's not going to be that easy.**

**Hjar is also in a right old state, having gone through my best attempt to induce aquaphobia and claustrophobia in my audience. I'm sorry about that. But at least she has L'laarzen there to fall out of the sky and offer encouragement! Like an unusually furry guardian angel...**

**Meanwhile Xander is finally having his Moment. Time for all that sweat, sweat and sweat to finally pay off. Of course, he's still got one of the most ridiculous fights in the game coming up. Ah, Ancano. Half the time he snaps like a piece of dry spaghetti and then the other half he's an unkillable self-healing demigod. I still can never figure out exactly how that fight's meant to go...**

**Next Time: Someone meets their allies, someone meets their friends, and someone meets their family. **


	24. Confronting Authority

**Important Note: From now on, I will be judging distances with the AGM scale (Adjusted Gaius Maro scale). This was taken by trying to use his schedule as a good estimator of how long it would take to cross the country, then realising he can apparently _WALK from Solitude to Windhelm in a day._**

**Like, what? How? Why is the order you travel the cities in so _wrong?_ Why does Windhelm even care if the Emperor is coming, they're rebelling!**

**Anyway, the scale I'm using is that it would take a full day of travel (eight hours of marching, with extra time on top of that to rest and eat) to walk between two adjacent holds (Falkreath to Whiterun, Riften to Windhelm, Dawnstar to Winterhold, etc). That taking a horse would cut that time in half, and that willingness to push said horse to it's limits could make it even faster at the expense of tiring it and risking harming it. **

**This is my compromise between Skyrim's ridiculously shrunk in-game size (the whole overworld is like the size of Manhattan), and a more realistic size (where travel takes weeks and my characters ever meeting is statistically nigh-impossible). **

**Of course, while I will be sticking to this from now on, the timing of events may not necessarily be linear. For instance, L'laarzen's segment here takes place several days after Hjar's, even though they were together at the end of last chapter. Making four individual stories merge together is as hard as it looks, folks, especially when I'm trying to fit at least a mention of all four in each chapter.**

**Anyways, on with your scheduled chaos... **

* * *

**Confronting Authority**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

Dulurza's stomach hurt. It wasn't anything major, really, just this godawful _tension_ in her gut that had appeared when she'd spotted Borgakh at Meridia's temple, and hadn't gone away since. It spiked every time she thought about what she was going to do.

_Is this...nerves? Really? I haven't had nerves about battle since I was fifteen. Get it together girl._

She swallowed, trying to ignore it, and continued her walk towards Elisif's room...only to pause as she saw Cassia Meteuse cheerily skipping the other way.

"You're still here?" Dulurza asked her, frowning. "Shouldn't you be heading back to Cyrodiil?"

"Hm?" Cassia blinked at the sudden question. "Oh, no. I mean, I _was_, but then I had a talk with Elisif just now, and-" She paused, then leaned in. "She says that she's considering taking me on as Court Wizard! Can you believe it?"

Dulurza's mood plummeted further. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?" She asked, testily.

"Well, yeah, but I mean screw that." Cassia snorted. "This is gonna come across as kinda vain, I know my parents will disagree, but...I'm not going to the Synod to improve at magic. I've already learned everything I need to from them. I'm going to the Synod to get a piece of paper that says I went to the Synod, because I'm more likely to get hired if I have it. That's it. But this opportunity is _insane_! Court Wizard to a Jarl? First of all, that's a bigger position than either of my siblings had as their first gig, and second of all, Elisif isn't just any Jarl." The glee on Cassia's face was tangible. "If the Empire wins this civil war, she becomes High Queen of Skyrim! I can fast track up to the _personal mage_ of the _ruler of a country_ before I even turn twenty! Damn right I'll drop out of school for that, I've already drafted the withdrawal letter!"

"Okay, wow. That's...really good for you." Dulurza wracked her brains. "But, your parents. Don't you think you should at least visit them? You said you were locked in the Dwemer ruin for a long time, right? Do you want to leave it up to _Xander_ to convince them you're alive and okay?"

"Oh, that is a good point." Cassia winced. "It's been what, three months since I last saw them? Letters can only do so much to...hey, wait a minute." She frowned, looked up at Dulurza. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

It was Dulurza's turn to wince. "No, I just thought-"

"What, do you still not like having me around?" Cassia accused. "I thought you said if we fought together we'd start to like each other!"

"I _do_ like you." Dulurza insisted. Before smiling and adding, "Even if you are maddeningly annoying sometimes."

Cassia snorted, and Dulurza quietly continued "But I _would_ prefer it if you were out of Solitude for the next few days."

Cassia's eyes narrowed. She leaned in closer. "Is something bad going to happen?"

_Damnit._ "Why can't you be as oblivious as your brother-" Dulurza muttered.

"There _is_!"

"No, there isn't-"

"Don't lie to me!" Cassia snapped. "If something's wrong, I want to help!"

"I KNOW!" Dulurza shouted. The word echoed through the palace, and Cassia jumped back a step with wide eyes.

Dulurza reigned in her irritation and sighed. _Look at me, treating her like a fool. We're the same age, and she's got twice the mind I have_. "I know." She repeated, putting a hand on Cassia's shoulder. "You've got a good heart, girl. Too good. But I carried you out of Winterhold before things got too sour. I won't be able to do that again." _And if I had to kill you, your brother would be furious..._

She muttered something about going to see Elisif, then walked past the confused girl and headed to the Jarl's door.

Elisif had specifically told Dulurza she didn't need to knock before opening, so she didn't.

She had been expecting all the curtains to be shuttered again, but found the opposite; the windows were thrown open, and Elisif was stood in the far corner of the room with her hands on the sill.

"Are you alright?" Dulurza asked, before she could help herself.

"Hm?" Elisif turned to see her, and smiled (_Oh, Malacath, she's _smiling _at me_) "Oh. Coping. Well, I suppose I'm just feeling...trapped. Stifled."

The Jarl turned back to the window, continuing "I used to ride, did you know that? I would take my best horse out early in the morning and just...take off, down the roads. See if I could go fast enough to lose my guards. Get to Dragon Bridge, have my lunch there, and then head back. Oh, or just take walks in the forests up above the city. It's beautiful in autumn, up among the trees. Of course, after I lost Torygg, I wasn't allowed to leave the city anymore. The one thing Bolgier and Tullius would agree on, that; too much risk of attack by brigands or Stormcloaks. Nowadays, I'm either holding court in the throne room, or just...sitting in my chambers. Waiting for the war to end."

Dulurza walked closer, gingerly. "And Potema?"

"Making it all worse." Elisif's smile was strained. "I don't know how much of the frustration claustrophobia is mine, and...how much of it is hers."

Dulurza opened her mouth, but stopped. She'd meant to ask Elisif to rescind her offer to Cassia. It wouldn't take more than a few heartfelt (and true) accounts of the girl's tendency for friendly fire to change Elisif's mind. After that, a furious Cassia would possibly skip town in a huff as soon as she could.

However, in her heart, Dulurza knew it wouldn't work. The stubborn girl would probably try and continue to prove her worth, now she'd gotten a taste of the opportunity. Either that, or sit and sulk in the city for a week. A trip back to Winterhold was possibly, but would probably take her a while to plan. And Dulurza was no sailor, but she knew you couldn't get a boat to navigate half of Tamriel with less than a day's notice.

And a day was all Cassia had. Mor Khazgor was going to attack that evening.

...Or perhaps those were just the excuses Dulurza made to herself, because ruining Cassia's dreams would make her feel bad.

She shut her mouth with a click. Then opened it again. "So you want a chance to get away from it all?"

"I'd love one." Elisif chuckled. "But like I said, there's no chance. Perhaps I could wrangle a walk up Castle Dour, get a breath of fresh air from the high walkways there...but then I'd have to walk the streets. Procession, a squadron of guards, pomp, ceremony." She turned back and raised an eyebrow. "Look at me. Should I let the people see me like this?"

"Beautiful?" Dulurza replied, without thinking, before stiffening and looking at the floor. _Stupid, stupid, stupid-_

She couldn't help it. It was true.

To her surprise, Elisif let out a genuine laugh. "I was going to say bedraggled, you charmer! Dishevelled? Exhausted? Those aren't the first things that come to mind?"

Dulurza mutely shook her head, before looking up to see Elisif's face suddenly redden, and her head whip back around to the window, cheeks red.

"Well. Th-thank you. I'm sorry, the ghost is being vulgar. Besides, you strike quite a figure yourself, if you don't mind me saying so."

"That in the armour or the dress?" Dulurza felt the need to ask.

"Both. Though you're clearly more comfortable in the former." Elisif composed herself, then turned back, leaning against the windowsill. "Still, even with us both wearing the most radiant of raiment, I still don't think I could face the crowds today. Not while I'm trying to hide this from them, not with Potema whispering in my ear. Especially not if she's going to keep making comments about _parsing knives_."

That last comment was seemingly directed to a random corner of the room. But still, Dulurza saw an opportunity.

"Then what if it was just us?" She offered. "No guards, no crowds."

"Just the two of us?" Elisif blinked. "I told you, Bolgier would never allow it."

"Alright." Dulurza shrugged. "So don't tell him."

"...Are you suggesting that I sneak out of the Palace?" Squeaked the Jarl of Solitude.

"The palace has back doors, doesn't it?" Replied her Thane. "So does the city, actually. We throw a cheap robe over your head, leave by a side gate. Spend an hour or two in the woods then come back. We'd never have to go more than a mile or so from the walls."

"B-But the guards-"

"Say you're 'not to be disturbed'. Our chief does it plenty, everyone'll just assume you're still in your room." Dulurza reasoned. "Leave a letter there explaining what happened in case anyone does come in and panics. If you're lucky, nobody ever knows you're gone. Worst that happens is you get an earful when you come back."

"Worst that happens is I _die_ out there." Elisif corrected, causing Dulurza to wince. _Oh, good, the ache is still there._

The Jarl turned back to the window, looking out into the sunlight with longing on her face. "But...if we don't stray too far from the walls..." She looked back. "Do you promise to keep me safe?"

It took all the willpower Dulurza had left not to look away. "Of course." She promised, her tongue tasting like ash. "You can trust me."

While she said so, she picked the spot where the ambush would take place.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

_I cannot believe that after all this I am going back into _another _Dwarven ruin._

Hjar was drenched, cold, bruised, broken, and exhausted. Nonetheless, she walked. The door to Markarth's ruins opened with the key Madanach had smuggled to her (Thank Hircine I didn't lose _that_ in my swim) and she crept inside, the shouts of guards cutting of as she pushed the door closed behind her. The room ahead of her was unlit by torchlight, a telltale hint that modern Nords hadn't occupied it yet. '_Keep the door locked and just go about your day', I'd imagine. Because it wouldn't be like Igmund to fail to deal with a problem, would it?_ Ahead could be any of the Dwemer's traps, ready to spring, not to mention their automata...

Hjar sighed heavily, leaning back against the door, and reached down to her hip. The handle of Molag Bal's mace found her fingers; cool, weighty and comforting. _Come on, girl. We made a promise to ourselves. Let's follow through on it._

'Stamp them out. Starting with you.' The words kept circling in her head as she pushed herself back to her feet and started walking.

The hallways were cool, and the stone was mostly smooth against her bare feet, but that changed whenever she had to traverse a ruined or overgrown area, a fact not helped by the dim blue glows emitted by the Dwarven wall-lights. As she moved, Hjar stripped off most of the (still sopping) outer-garments she'd appropriated from Urzoga's house, leaving her not quite naked but still rather inappropriately dressed for anyone who wasn't a Reachwoman. There was the niggling worry that she might die of hypothermia before even reaching her allies...but fortunately, she only reached the second room before noticing the flickering of torchlight and the chatter of voices from up ahead. Caution made her duck behind a brass statue (praying it wouldn't come to life on her), but when she recognised the distinctive, gnarled voice of her grandfather, she stepped back out into the centre of the room.

Approaching through a tunnel on the other side of the room was a large group, almost thirty people in all, with Madanach at the head. Hjar recognised most of them from her days in the mine, Borkul the Beast standing out as a head taller than all the others. Braig she also made a note of, with a wry smile. _He might not have been a Forsworn when you first arrested him, Igmund, but he certainly is now._

"Hjarnagredda!" Madanach called, walking towards her with arms outstretched. "How are you, granddaughter? Because you _look_ like death warmed up."

His statement merited laughter from the crowd behind him, and she tilted her head with a hand on her hip. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was busy carrying the whole Forsworn on my back, didn't have time for the usual makeup routine."

That got laughs too. Seemed like everyone was in a good mood. Madanach chuckled, as he walked closer to her.

"It is done, then?" He asked, quietly.

"Aye." She replied, matching his tone. "But I wasn't quiet about it."

"No matter. Stealth was never part of the plan." Madanach turned to address the others. "My people! Jarl Igmund lies dead!" Raucous cheers met his words, the Forsworn shaking pickaxes in the air and echoing sentiments such as "The oppressor is dead!" "The Reach is ours again!"

"Indeed! And now that the dam has burst, we shall be the crashing wave that sweeps the filth from Markarth!" He turned, and pointed back the way Hjar had came. "Through that door is the city that trapped you for years! The air they refused to let you breathe! The sky they refused to let you see! Follow me, and seize it!" There were more cheers, for which he waited to die down. Then, "We will carve down to the main gate! Kill anyone who stands in your way! Once we are finally free in the hills of our homeland, we make our way North to Druadach Redoubt! Come, my brothers and sisters! For the Reach!"

Amongst roars of determination, the group moved onwards at a jog through the cave.

It didn't surprise Hjar that all the Forsworn were caught up in the moment. This was their first shot at freedom in years, perhaps decades. But she herself had...one or two questions.

One was 'Wait, was Druadach Redoubt that one Forsworn camp I massacred? Or was that another Redoubt? Why are there so many Redoubts?'

The second, she moved up alongside Madanach to ask.

"We're just leaving the city?" She had to speak loudly to be heard over the shouting. "That's the whole plan?"

He at least understood her meaning, if not her motives. "Temper your bloodlust, granddaughter. Even with Igmund dead, we do not have the men to take the city by ourselves. The guards outnumber us two to one, to say nothing of the resistance of the Nord populace. But with them in disarray, we have an opportunity to punch through and out, dealing a crippling blow to Markarth's forces and escaping into the wilds. From there, we can regroup with the scattered Forsworn encampments, and plan our next moves."

"So everything just goes back to the way it was?" Hjar demanded. _Forsworn raiders butchering trade caravans to Solitude, nothing more than glorified bandits?_

"No. Because now, they have us." Madanach's eyes had always seemed alert, but today they were alive, with a spark Hjar had never seen before. "I have sent letters throughout the Reach, my dear. With the events you have set in motion today, they will know that change is upon us. The Forsworn will band together behind us, Hjarnagredda, behind the King in Rags...and his successor." Her eyes widened and he looked at her, meaningfully. "Markarth is weakened, now it's mine lies empty and it's Jarl lies dead. With the Empire once more too busy with war to provide aid, we will once more be able to storm Markarth and reclaim it for its rightful people."

Hjar's mind was whirling. _So, Markarth is to be sacked again. Not twenty years after the last time. Isn't it funny how they call these uprisings 'revolutions'? Like a spinning wheel. Like they know in the end it's going to happen again...or just end up the same way it was._

Sometime in the past, the Nords had forced the Reachmen out of Markarth. Then the Reachmen had reclaimed it for themselves. Then the Stormcloaks had forced them out and put the Nords back.

Would Hjar really be the next person to conquer the city?

If she did, who would come around to conquer her?

"Of course. It's you." Was what she said aloud, as they moved into the last room. "When you told me to kill a Jarl, I should have known you had something bigger planned."

"You give me too much credit." He chuckled. "Before you arrived I was content to maintain the status quo. Your actions taught me that _I_ needed to take action to get results. And besides, it was you who offered to assassinate the Jarl, before I had so much as voiced the idea."

"What?" Hjar frowned. "No I didn't. You sent word to me that you wanted me to do it."

"I sent a letter _after_ receiving your message, about wanting to use your freedom as an opportunity to kill him. Is that what you mean?" Madanach scrunched his nose up in confusion.

"What? No, I didn't send a letter." A sinking feeling started to form in Hjar's gut. She noticed, but didn't quite register, that the bravado from the people behind them had cut out. "I broke into Urzoga's house and she said she was with us, and you'd told her to find me and tell me you wanted to-"

"Urzoga the mine boss?" Madanach interrupted. "She was never one of us, what do you-" he looked forwards, and stopped talking.

Hjar did the same. And swore quietly to herself.

Arrayed in front of the entrance to Markarth were over a dozen city guards, augmented by almost that many mercenaries. Stood at the front of the lot was Thonar Silver-Blood, sneering at them imperiously. "Well, well, well." He remarked, his voice echoing now that the Forsworn had gone silent. "Looks like we have a prison break on our hands."

"You..." Madanach growled, but Hjar barely even noticed Thonar. Her attention was drawn to the figures stood to the right of him.

Margret, hair much more in disarray than the last time Hjar had seen it, had her hands bound in front of her, and was looking down at Hjar in genuine surprise. Next to her, Urzoga Gra-Shugurz was grinning maliciously, one hand on the scruff of Margret's neck, and the other on a sword that was angled up across the spy's body.

Next to the two of them...

"Oh, you son of a bitch." Hjar growled.

"Hello again, champion of Molag Bal." Greeted the ratty, black-cloaked form of Logrolf the Wilful. "Did you really think that I would let you escape me so easily?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

The first thing Xander noticed were the magic pools. Or, whatever they were called, the blue glowy things that sat on the bridge to the College and lit up its insides. Every single one of them he had seen from miles away, blazing ten times as bright as normal and shooting their beams up into the clouds that rumbled darkly above they city.

"These things are powered by magicka, right?" Xander whispered to Mirabelle as they passed the first one.

"Yyyep." She replied.

"Great..."

There was another spherical shield that cut across the bridge, which Xander was forced to use the staff on again. He'd began to worry he might run the thing out of charge, but it didn't seem to need it. It wasn't expending magical power to produce an effect, it was just connecting the wielder with a magical phenomena and telling the energy where to go. Once more, magicka rushed into his body, and once more he found a way to use it before it fled his cells; tinting it with fire magic and pulsing it outwards towards the blue pools.

Their colour changed to red as they began radiating heat, and all the mages following him gasped in surprise as the snow on the bridge began to melt.

_Seriously? None of you thought to use them as radiators? The _Synod _has radiators, and they don't live in a _frozen wasteland!

Trying not to visibly react, Xander walked forwards, using the last flicker of power to telekinetically open the gates ahead of him.

The Statue of Shalidor was still as impressive as it had been when he'd first seen it, but now it had the advantage that the air around it hummed with magical energy. Xander could feel it prickling against his skin, a pressure that had slowly intensified the closer they'd gotten to the Hall of the Elements.

In front of him, the doors loomed.

"You might all want to stay here!" Xander warned, over the whipping of the wind. "Once I get in there...it's going to get hectic!"

The masters took the hint of 'stay a long way away when the wizards who outclass you start duelling' and took up positions around the courtyard. Mirabelle stepped up to Xander's side, and told him "You had better stay safe in there. I've had quite enough of watching you die for one week."

"Oh, so on Sundas the timer resets?" He joked, and got a glare. "It won't be safe, no." He admitted, coughing. "But I don't intend on dying either."

"Then that will have to do." She let him go, and he walked up to the doors with some trepidation.

_Oh, get over yourself. It's not like _these _are what's holding the Eye in._

He was right. Pulling the door open didn't cause any explosion of light or burst of force. It just revealed another glowing sphere, this one pure white and opaque. He pointed the staff and got to work.

Whatever it was, it was plainly much denser than the ones outside; if he tried to absorb too much of it he might just explode. Instead, he focused on creating an eddy in the swirl. The spinning stream parted at his will where he aimed the staff, and he bid it grow larger, until the gap that formed allowed him to see within, and eventually step over the lower edge and inside.

Within...was another thrice-damned sphere. But this one wasn't the same as the others. It glowed purple, not blue, and knelt in front of it, connected to the energy by a long purple stream...

_Ah._

Xander sat down next to the kneeling robed figure. "I just want you to know you're doing a lousy job of this." He remarked, casually as he could. "Before I arrived they had picked up Winterhold and taken it ten miles East."

"If I wasn't here, everything North of Falkreath would have already burned." The ghost of Savos Aren turned to Xander, and smiled dryly. "Well met, apprentice. I see that you were successful."

"Barely." Xander twirled the staff in his lap. "How many decades, and you never considered using a non-mage to kill Morokei until I arrived?"

"Have _some_ faith in me." Savos chuckled. "A mere warrior would have fallen to his spells, a mere mage to his staff, and a mere thief would have been unable to avoid his gaze. I needed someone who truly understood magic, would be able to fight a strong mage on equal terms, but would not be overcome by the magicka drain. When I saw the truth of your reserves, compared that to your feats...you were a godsend, apprentice. And even then, you were a long shot."

"Yeah...sorry for lying my way into your school."

"I'm dead." The Archmage replied, simply. "Don't waste time apologising to me. Mirabelle, however..."

"Alright, alright..." Xander sighed. "What now?"

"The Eye is unstable. You'll need to fix that."

"Oh, thanks."

"What do you want from me? I don't know how. Point the staff at it, or something." Savos stood. "Once I release the barrier, it will be free. And the Mer responsible is still in there. If you fail-"

"Maybe _don't_ say it out loud?" Xander winced. "I'm panicking enough as it is."

"Very well. But you were right, in our little discussion earlier." Savos brought his hands together, and the light of the beam intensified. "There is no victory in stalemate. One need only look at the 'peace' of Tamriel to realise that. Problems must be solved, not put off for the future. We all have but one lifetime on Mundus, after all."

"Or several, if you're talented." Xander replied with a smirk.

"Quite." Savos chuckled. "And I suspect that you are very talented indeed. I shall add another regret to the pile; that I will not get to witness where you take my College in the future. But I am sure it will be...well. Morokei."

_Glorious._

He took a deep breath into his spectral lungs. "May my friends forgive me, and my ancestors accept me. Time to see this 'Aetherius' everyone is so excited about."

Savos pulled his hands apart. The line connecting him to the shield shattered, and so did the shield itself, as Savos' body flashed into spirit and darted away, flying through the outer shields and to who knows where.

_Note to self. Try to be at least as epic as him in the future._

Xander stood, and walked forwards.

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen arrived at Whiterun at just before midnight, and could barely keep her eyes open. From the chaos that had enveloped Markarth as she clambered up and over the walls, it had been quite clear that she had needed to skip town as quickly as possible. So she had stolen another horse. In fact, the same horse she'd ridden to Markarth on, the lost steed having made its way there after she'd left it near the city limits. And then she'd ridden it hard the whole way back up to Whiterun, stopping once along the way to rest when she was certain she was free of the Reach's jurisdiction.

Suffice to say, not enough sleep.

_Agh. Here Khajiit is feeling tired; but she cannot imagine what it is like for the poor horse. Skyrim breeds are certainly hardy._

"There, there, friend." She patted its mane reassuringly. "You will be able to rejoin your masters soon."

She left it some distance down the road, close to a recently destroyed watchtower, before walking the rest of the way. The man who ran the stables was still awake, despite the time, and she walked up closer to him with a hand raised. "Um, excuse me good sir-"

"Hm? Oh, what do you want, cat?" He growled back, clearly in something of a mood. "Can't you see I have enough on my plate?"

"Yes, only," she coughed. "Khajiit saw a horse wandering listlessly just down that western road. Saddled, dark brown fur, no owner. Would you happen to be...?"

The man's eyes widened. "Allie!" He declared. "I-theres no way. Wait here!" He took off at a run down the cobbled stone, to where his steed awaited him.

She did not wait there, slinking away the moment he turned his back.

_There. Now it is not horse thievery, just horse borrowing. Ah, except for the one I took from Winterhold to here..._

Anyways, she needed a place to sleep. The city might have been unwilling to let Khajiit in (especially at this hour), but that didn't mean she was out of options.

The door to the recently renamed 'Black-Briar Meadery West' opened with a creak, and she was met with a rush of warm air and the sound of merriment.

The meadery was still open, it seemed, and many of the city's populace was still there drinking. _Having more success now that there isn't a mad wizard in your basement, hmm?_

Mallus Macchius was still manning the bar, and he looked up with wide eyes as he spotted her approach.

She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, before pointing his eyes towards the door to the back rooms and walking in that direction. Somewhat nonplussed, she followed him.

"You know, L'laarzen would actually not mind a drink-" she chuckled, as he shut the door behind her-

Then her ears flickered flat, and her eyes narrowed. _Who is..._

"Damnit. I was really hoping to get past you that time."

The voice came from the rafters; L'laarzen looked up to see Karliah perched there, casually as you please.

"You?" L'laarzen frowned. "Are you not supposed to be waiting at Winterhold?"

"I was. There were complications." Karliah hopped off her beam, landing on the floor beside L'laarzen with nary a sound. "Mallus, you alright with giving all three of us boarding?"

She addressed the question at the master of the house, who shrugged. "If it's guild business, it's Maven approved. Miss L'laarzen," He glanced back at her, "there's an open barrel upstairs if you do want that drink. Should be food there too, and rugs to sleep on. Just don't expect luxury. I'm running a meadery, not an inn."

"Khajiit understands. Thank you for your generosity." She bowed her head, then followed Karliah up the steps as Macchius went back into the main drinking room.

"How long before he learns from the guild that we are not his allies?" She asked the Dunmer, quietly.

"I've already intercepted one letter from Riften." Karliah replied, with a smile. "I'll leave it on his bed when we leave. But even if he finds out, his best bet is probably just to act friendly then rat us out when we're gone. Nothing he could do to stop us killing him, after all."

"Let's..._not_, do that." L'laarzen winced.

Karliah opened another door and revealed a living space of sorts, possibly Mallus' own room. Inside, Enthir looked up with wide eyes and stood. "Well, thank goodness. I had hoped you'd head here on your way back, but we couldn't be sure, and there wasn't a way to contact you."

"Because L'laarzen did not expect you to move." She tilted her head at him, even as she moved to pull a chair from the corner and sit on it. "Did something force you out of Winterhold?"

"Hah! Oh, yes. Literally." Enthir sighed, and grabbed a half-finished mug of mead from the room's central table. It probably wasn't his first. "Not to call your priorities into question, ladies, but there's an actual apocalypse going on up in that city. Now might not be the right time to worry about revenge."

"Foolish mages experiments going awry doesn't mean an _apocalypse_." Karliah snorted, taking her own seat.

"No, but you're not a mage, are you?" Enthir gave her a pointed look. "They've got an artefact of the gods up there, and they're tampering with it. You're lucky we bailed when we did, Karliah. Otherwise we might be stuck there, or pushed out by a ward, or buried in whatever those magical _things_ were-"

"We do not need to worry about Winterhold." L'laarzen interrupted without looking at him, busily pouring herself a mug of mead and filling a plate with all the food the other two hadn't eaten yet. "Alexander is there, and I have faith in him to handle it."

Karliah and Enthir shared a significant glance (Enthir mouthing 'who?') as L'laarzen turned back, pulling open her hip-pouch with her one free hand and withdrawing a roll of paper. "What _we_ need to worry about is _this_." She dropped it onto the table.

Enthir picked it up and unrolled it, frowning as it split into several large sheets. "What even is this? If this is what Calcelmo's writings look like then I...oh."

"It's your translation." L'laarzen told him, glancing around the room and grabbing a fluffy-looking pelt by one end. "Notes were unavailable, Markarth is...hectic. But that should be enough to read the diary, no?"

"I...well, yes." Enthir looked down at them and back up at her. "If this is complete I should be able to-hey, where are you going?"

"To bed." She replied, simply. "Khajiit is tired and grumpy. Goodnight!"

"Hey, that's my bedroll-"

The door clicked shut behind her.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

The Eye of Magnus was not looking good. It's rate of spin had accelerated, completing a full rotation more than once per second, and it was shuddering in mid-air, lightning arcing from its surface and striking the walls of the dome around them.

Stood on the floor, an Elf in Thalmor robes was shooting lightning at it.

"What in Oblivion are you doing to that thing!" Xander shouted before he could help himself, striding forwards with righteous indignation overcoming his fear. "Are you _insane_? Do you want to blow up the whole continent?"

"Back away, fool!" Snarled the Thalmor. "I wield power you cannot even conceive of!"

"I literally just demonstrated that I could conceive of it when I told you what it would _do_ if you don't _stop messing with it_." Xander snapped back. "Look, I've had a long, looong day. Stop spouting cliches and take your greasy paws off the orb or so help me-"

"INSOLENCE!" Shouted the Elf, rather childishly. His attention was all on Xander now. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Xander looked at him. Tilted his head. "...Not in the slightest, no."

The look on the Mer's face was priceless. "Wait, what? Really?"

"Yep. No, wait." Xander squinted, trying to remember. "Savos said your name the first time, it was...Andrew?"

"ANCANO!"

Xander snapped his fingers. "I knew there was an A in it somewhere! Great! Uh, do I know you?"

"I've been here the whole time!" Ancano screeched. "I've tried to talk to you on multiple occasions! I was in the courtyard when you first arrived!"

"You were? That can't be right." Xander frowned. "My memory is usually very good. If you were anyone important I'm sure I would have noticed you."

"I-YOU-" Ancano spluttered, then paused. "...This is just taunting, isn't it?" He said, with an air of dawning realisation. "You...you're just mocking me!"

Xander glanced away, then back. "Sure, why not." He said, nodding. "Mocking you. That. I can't believe it took you so long to realise, actually."

"Oh, you must think you're so clever." Ancano snarled.

"That's another cliche."

"But you cannot-"

"Conceive of the power you wield? Is it 'the power to unmake the world'? Is it 'at your fingertips'?"

"SHUT IT!" Ancano turned away from the Eye, the trail of lightning still connecting to his back. "You talk the talk, boy, but your precious Archmage could do nothing against my arcane prowess! What can you do?"

Xander hummed. Tossed the staff into his left hand. "I dunno. Maybe something like this?"

He pointed it at the Eye and fired it. And then gasped, as his mind exploded.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, the sun was shining, and Dulurza was about to murder a helpless woman.

_Malacath's name, when I got offered this contract I thought it would be a lot more...glamorous._ Though she was just wearing her armour, her axe on her back and Dawnbreaker on her waist, she had never before felt like such a weight was on her.

The worst part was how Gods-damned _happy_ Elisif seemed. Dulurza led the way, 'checking for threats', and her Jarl was happy to follow behind, remarking occasionally about the scenery, or the sounds, or most often:

"This is so _bad_!" Elisif insisted, sounding almost childlike. "Look at me, sneaking out of the castle just for a chance to wander through the woods!"

"Are you enjoying it?" Dulurza called back.

"Oh, absolutely. I've missed this. And my passenger apparently sees fit to stay quiet for the moment, which is nice of her. Still...this is so _irresponsible_."

"Mmhmm."

"And immature."

"Mmhmm."

"We cannot ever do this again."

_We won't get the chance to..._ "We can, eventually." was what Dulurza said. "Once the war's over."

"Yes...when the war's over..."

Dulurza focused her eyes forwards and around, trying to spot her brethren. The clearing she was set to lead Elisif to wasn't fifty yards up ahead, so they had to be around somewhere. _C'mon, Borgakh. Don't leave me in suspense like this..._

"Dulurza? Can you...stop? For a second?"

Dulurza did stop, turning to give Elisif a questioning look. "My Jarl?"

Elisif was looking down, her hands clasped together and fidgeting with each other. "I...had some things I wanted to say." She began. "Did Cassia tell you that I plan to take her on as-"

"Court Wizard? Aye." Dulurza nodded. "She's..." _oh, screw it,_ "She's a bright one. Kind, caring, strong. It's a good choice."

"I'm glad you think so." Elisif nodded. "She's done me and my city a great service. Hopefully she can be well enough established that my successor keeps her on."

"Successor?"

"Dulurza-" Elisif looked at her. "I-I owe you my gratitude. More than gratitude; you've done so much for me. Helping me put Torygg to rest, saving my life, supporting me over the last few weeks, I...If there's anything you want. From Solitude, from me, personally...just ask, and it's yours."

This was not how Dulurza had expected the conversation to go. She glanced behind herself, scanning the trees but finding nothing. _I'm not at the exact spot, but Borgakh's not stupid. They must just be waiting for me to make the kill._

"Well, you're paying me. I think." She said aloud. "Thanes get paid, right? But I told you I'm not doing this for money. I'm just...trying to find an honourable way to live."

_Honourable...is that what this is?_

"So you've said." Elisif admitted. "But, there's truly nothing you want from me?"

Thoughts ran through Dulurza's head, and were viciously stamped down. "Nothing I could ever ask for." She answered.

"Gods, I don't deserve you..." Elisif shook her head, chuckling. "Still, I should provide you with a bonus, or something. I highly doubt that anyone else will wish to employ you in my stead."

Dulurza bristled. "What's all this about you having a replacement?" She demanded. "Nobody's going to-"

"Dulurza." Elisif cut across her. She looked pointedly at the sword at her hip. "You heard the Daedra. Potema can't be separated from me. There's only two ways for this to end."

"Elisif, listen to me-"

"No, _you_ listen." Elisif walked closer, eyes blazing with intensity. "This curse is _insidious_. Every day, she creeps closer and closer, and I don't know how long I have left. But I am going to use every day the Divines give me to prepare my city for when I'm gone. I don't know how I'm going to find a truly honourable noble in Solitude, but by the Divines I am going to try. Because I cannot have a Thalmor puppet sat on my throne, and I _absolutely_ cannot have a madwoman sitting there wearing my face." She moved even closer, grabbing Dulurza's arms. "Do you understand? She is going to look like me. She is going to talk like me. She is going to do her best to _act_ like me. And even if the city realises that she's taken over and has her dragged from the Blue Palace, she will make them doubt themselves for every step they walk. I cannot, will not, let that happen to Solitude."

"We still have time." Dulurza insisted, grabbing her arms in turn. "Cassia knows more now, she still has letters to send and studies to do, we can't-"

She stopped, because Elisif had thrown herself forwards and buried her head in Dulurza's chest.

"I don't want to live a prisoner in my own body." She whispered. "I don't want to die a puppet, losing her mind to a dead queen. If I have to die, I want to die as me. At the hands of someone who understands." She took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I want it to be you."

Dulurza's breath hitched, and she instinctively pulled Elisif back to arms reach. "Wait, what-"

"I'm sorry." Elisif had tears in her eyes. "I'm _sorry_ to ask this of you, and I'll give you anything in return, but I can't let loose the Wolf Queen reborn on Skyrim." She wiped her face, sniffing, "I'll explain it to the people we can trust when we get back. Delay it if you have to, there will always be things to do, but if you wait too long she will beg you to stop, you'll have to push through my face _begging_ you not to, Dulurza-"

"Hold on-"

"Do it now, if you have to! If you don't think you can hold, just cut me down and run, but please, don't let-"

"_Enough_." Dulurza grabbed Elisif about the shoulders, shaking her roughly. "Snap out of it, Jarl, and listen to me very carefully."

This was perfect. She was being handed the opportunity on a silver platter. Dulurza could unsheathe Dawnbreaker now, slay Elisif, be done with all the guilt and complete her mission in one fell swoop.

But she couldn't stop talking.

She was furious.

"Since when were you the kind of person to roll over and die just because living was too difficult?" She demanded, looking Elisif dead in the eye. "You, the woman who's husband was murdered before her eyes, yet you still resolved to reclaim your homeland and rule in his place? You're so determined to serve your people, well you can't serve them by being a coward!"

Elisif looked startled, and Dulurza backed up a step, crossing her arms. "Skyrim owes you the right to live. And you owe it to Skyrim to continue to do so. Owe it to _me_. And you expect me to do away with all that?" She pointed a finger at Elisif's breast. "You are strong. And wise, and fair, and kind, and I-"

She froze. The last remnants of her doubts, the last voice in her head that wanted her to just shut up and go with the flow, tried to stop her saying those last words. But...

"...And I am not going to kill you."

And it was true. In her heart, she'd known it was true for a long time.

..._Oops._

"Run." She insisted.

"What?" Elisif replied, still not done processing Dulurza's words-

"Run!" Dulurza insisted, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around. "Back to the city! Go, GO!"

* * *

**Good readers. It is cliffhanger time.**

**Dulurza makes her choice! Hjar falls into a trap! Xander faces down his adversary! L'laarzen...goes to bed!**

**Guys I can't always make the dramatic tension peak simultaneously for four people what do you want from me.**

**But yes! Dulurza finally reaches the culmination of over thirty thousand words of doubts. I doubt anyone actually expected her to side with Mor Khazgor here (It'd be one hell of a dark turn if she did) but I hope I was able to make the payoff satisfying. **

**And who saw Urzoga's true loyalties coming, eh? I was giggling heavily while setting that one up. The funniest part is, the game establishes to the player that basically _anyone _in the city could be a Forsworn. What a twist it would be if the person guarding the mine was too? Only...not, in this case. Logrolf, you scheming bastard.**

**Next Time: Someone fights, someone thinks, and someone has a chat.**


	25. Eye For An Eye

**Eye for an Eye**

* * *

**8˂**

When L'laarzen stepped into the communal room the next morning, she noticed an amusing reversal in temperament. She was feeling pleasantly refreshed, whereas _Enthir_ looked like...

"Oh, great, the Chaurus lady finally awakens from her beauty sleep." The Bosmer glared at her. "Is my bed free yet?"

"Yyyyes." L'laarzen remembered his words from the previous night and smiled apologetically. "Ah...sorry?"

"Good. Move." He stood, shoved past her, and stormed out into the meadery.

"Don't mind him." Karliah requested, also in the room. "He's just spent the last eight hours translating a fifty page journal from Falmer into Dwemer into modern Tamrielic. Frankly he deserves a break. I told him he could probably just do the last few pages, but no, 'too high a chance for mistranslations' he said. I think he was actually having fun...for the first few hours."

Karliah's complexion was also rather sour, but frankly the Dunmer had looked sleep deprived every time L'laarzen had seen her, so it was hard to tell whether she'd rested or not.

"But he has succeeded?" L'laarzen asked, joining her at the table. "The journal is legible?"

"Oh, it is." Karliah sighed, pinching her nose. "I almost wish it wasn't...take a look, he's written it out." She pushed a creased stack of handwritten pages across the table.

L'laarzen reached out for them...then stopped, and looked back up at Karliah. "You could have had him write anything you wanted here." _Stupid, Khajiit should have stayed throughout the translation. But would that even help, if both were committed to lie to me?_

Karliah just rolled her eyes. "You can take the rubbing and the journal to any other scholar in Skyrim and check, if you'd like." She offered. "But I don't think any of us have the time. And if what Gallus suspected is true, there'll be a much simpler proof once we get back to Riften."

"Hmm...then Khajiit shall trust you for now." L'laarzen leaned back. "So? What have we learned?"

"Another three or four reasons for me to want that scheming, lying, traitorous bastard Mercer dead." Karliah replied, unhelpfully.

L'laarzen raised an eyebrow, and Karliah sighed again. "I suppose I'll have to tell you everything now. You'll need to know it all if you have to come face to face with him again." Karliah leaned in. "Tell me...have you ever heard of the Skeleton Key?"

L'laarzen's eyes widened. _That...is not what Khajiit was expecting_. "What thief hasn't heard of _that_?" She replied.

"What hairdresser has?" Karliah shot back, wryly. L'laarzen winced, and she continued, "but what have you heard? Specifically?"

"It is the tool any criminal would want." L'laarzen answered, thinking about it. "A key that can open any lock. Any door, any safe. L'laarzen always assumed it was a myth, though with the number of frightening artefacts we _do_ know of, that might be a somewhat close-minded opinion."

"Hmph. That's the basics of it, yes." Karliah nodded. "I suppose I should drop all the bombshells at once:

The Skeleton key is real. It's a Daedric artefact of Nocturnal. The Nightingales are the servants of Nocturnal, and up until recently, our duty was to defend the Key."

L'laarzen blinked. Blinked again. "...You are part of a Daedric cult?"

"It's not a cult!" Karliah snapped, defensively. "It's...well, more of a company than anything. Or a supplier and her customers."

"Do you offer your life or soul to a Daedric Prince in exchange for power?" L'laarzen asked, flatly.

"...Yes."

"Then it's a cult." _The nice lady at Azura's shrine, Aranea, she mentioned something about Nocturnal_...L'laarzen's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's how you evaded Khajiit!"

Karliah went from offended to confused in a second. "You...what?"

"When we fought in Snow Veil! You vanished into thin air with no warning!" L'laarzen pointed a finger accusingly. "That was some Daedric power, yes?"

"It...was, yes." Karliah straightened, recovering somewhat. "I'm a disciple of the crescent moon. Once every moonrise I can turn completely invisible on a whim. I...honestly wasn't sure it would still work, but you pushed me to try."

L'laarzen crossed her arms and sat back, smiling smugly. "So L'laarzen would have won."

"Excuse me? I was going to shoot you if you hadn't-"

"You ambushed Khajiit, and she still would have won if you didn't sell your soul to a Daedra. That makes her better."

"If you'd been the only one I was aiming for, I would have no problem landing that shot."

"Odd, then, that you still-" L'laarzen stopped herself, then coughed. "Ah. Forgive Khajiit, that was immature, she did not mean to-"

"It's fine." Karliah chuckled. "Good to see some geniune bitter pride from you. Frankly, I'm just glad I could get the mask to break."

"What mask?" L'laarzen asked, while thinking_ 'Damn, she saw through the mask.'_

"You know what I mean. You're always so perfectly nice, it's- nevermind." Karliah waved a hand. "Anyway. Me, Gallus, and Mercer were all Nightingales, as you know, which means we all worked for Nocturnal. However, it seems Mercer was less than faithful." She picked up Enthir's translation, flicking to nearer the back. "Gallus started to suspect that Mercer was stealing from the guild's secure vault, almost caught him trying once. Breaking in _there _would be impossible, we've made sure of it. Well, unless he has the Key. If he did, it would be trivial."

L'laarzen frowned, thinking back to her shared journey with the man through Snow Veil. "Was he expert with picking locks before?"

"No." Karliah snorted. "He was lousy, by a thief's standards. Mercer was a bruiser, ran the protection rackets and other dirty jobs."

"So not good enough to open a Nordic puzzle door without a corresponding claw?"

"Daedra, no. I'm not even sure that's possible." Karliah grit her teeth. "I was wondering how he got through to me so quickly...it was one of the first clues that set me on the idea." She gestured at L'laarzen's neck, which still bore an unnatural swelling from the time she'd been gripped about the throat. "It would also explain why he was such a juggernaut during our fight..."

L'laarzen's arm unconsciously moved down to her ribs. They were still hurting, and the rough treatment she'd put them through on her way to and from Markarth (and her exertions in the city) had done nothing to help matters. _Need to visit a priest, but..._ "How could a key make a man hit harder?"

"It's not just a key for regular locks, it's-" Karliah grimaced. "Damnit, Gallus was always better at this...It's the _ultimate_ key. In the vaguest possible terms, a 'key' is just 'something that opens the way'. And the Skeleton Key does. To anything." She leaned backwards, looking to the ceiling. "Gallus said it could open doors between dimensions. Unlock the Evergloam, or break into any other realm of Oblivion. He was demonstrating it when he first recruited me, and he used it to find this tiny crack in a wall that brought the whole thing down. He said it could unlock the way into people's hearts, too. He held it while talking to me, and in less than a minute, he sent me from raging with fury to shaking with laughter, to damn near depressed to a-" she coughed, "excited. I could hardly understand what was happening to me; I am _not_ an emotional person."

"That's a very wide range of abilities for one artefact." L'laarzen observed.

"That's Nocturnal for you. Molag Bal or Malacath might give you a weapon that makes you nigh unstoppable, but the lady of shadows is...subtler. Frankly, the only limit to what it can do is how imaginative you are with defining a 'lock'." Karliah drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. "Gallus said a wielder of the Key could use it to unlock limitations within themselves. You ever heard of hysterical strength? Mercer actually mentioned it to me once, the idea that the body is capable of much more than it lets on, but you're consciously restricted from doing it because you might hurt yourself. Fun fact, you could chomp through your own finger as easily a carrot, but your mind stops you."

"What cheery things Mercer speaks of." L'laarzen responded. "And you think this 'hysterical strength' is what he used to strike so brutally? That something similar allowed him to overcome the poison?"

"It's entirely possible." Karliah shrugged. "Gallus gave me a warning, that the Key could open restrictions in your own mind. Cut through doubts, biases...remorse." She narrowed her eyes. "Mercer has held the Key for years now. He might not have anything left in his head beyond pure avarice."

It was a concerning thought. Everyone L'laarzen had ever met could be counted on to have some kind of weakness. _What is L'laarzen's? Her mercy? It certainly seems to get in the way a lot..._

She dismissed the thoughts and changed the subject. "This Gallus...you seem to value his advice highly."

"I loved him." Karliah responded, confirming that theory. "He was my mentor, my confidante, my lover...my everything. The gold was always secondary, to be honest. Fun, but all I really wanted was to come back home to him...that's why I can't just let this go and move to any other nation in Tamriel. I need to set right what was done to him." She stared down at the table for a few seconds, then looked up and huffed. "And you've done it again! You've got me talking about my feelings. How?"

"Sometimes a friendly face is all that's needed." L'laarzen beamed. "If you'd like, this one could cut your hair too?"

"Not on your life." Karliah chuckled and leaned back, some of the gloomy mood leaving.

L'laarzen snickered with her. "Very well. Then, what do you think is our next move?"

"We only have one option." Karliah answered. "We go back to Riften. Try to convince them to hear us out. At this point, we have enough evidence to at arouse their suspicion, at least, and if they open the vault and find less than they're expecting, it should be enough to turn the tables on Frey." She blew out a breath, not seeming very keen on the idea. "But he's had _years_ to get into their heads. I'm not sure if they'll listen to me."

"Perhaps not." L'laarzen admitted. Her eyes narrowed. "But they will listen to me."

* * *

"I...thought you only spoke in third person?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a second-language quirk, the Khajiiti language is structured differently to Tamrielic. L'laarzen- _I_ can speak like a local if I must."

"Oh, good to know. It was more dramatic in first person."

"Yes, I thought so too."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

_Short fight. Simplest possible truth. I cannot let Elisif die. Which means..._

Dulurza heard the footsteps behind her. The sudden burst of speed had forced the ambushers to break stealth. Good.

She stuck a leg out and used a tree to stop herself suddenly, then push herself off in the same motion, turning around to see the shocked face of another Orc rushing towards her not three metres away. She recognised him, actually, a warrior she'd trained with more than once.

The butt of her axe shot forwards and cracked into his forehead.

He stumbled, stunned, and she moved past him, grabbing his face with one arm and slamming the back of his head into a tree. He dropped.

"Dulurza! What in Oblivion do you think-"

Another male's voice, to her right. She spun anti-clockwise, swinging her axe around with one hand. This target was more prepared, ducking underneath it, but he wasn't ready for her knee cracking into his chin, the upwards momentum sending him almost off his feet. Probably enough, but Dulurza wasn't certain, so she brought up her leg and slammed her heel into his chest, forcing him down onto his back with a groan and the sound of cracking ribs.

"KEEP RUNNING!" Dulurza yelled at Elisif, who had stopped a few metres away to turn and look. The startled Jarl didn't need telling again, fleeing towards the walls. Dulurza turned back, to see two more Orcs charging towards her.

Idiots, this pair (she couldn't remember their names, so just designated them One and Two), but here that stupidity worked in their favour. They didn't bother to question why she was suddenly an enemy. They just came in, maces swinging.

Dulurza deflected One, letting his momentum carry him past her, then stood firm and blocked Two, stonewalling him. He staggered backwards and she cracked him twice in the face with the haft of her axe,left and right, then spun around and brought her weapon down on the wild upswing of One, knocking his mace down into the floor. She punched him in the jaw with her off-hand, kicked his bent leg and heard a break, then brought her axe over her head and blocked Two's retaliation at the elbow. She moved into him and brought one arm up to grab his weapon hand, used her axe as a pivot and yanked. He cried out as his arm broke, then again as she threw him down over her shoulder and slammed into the floor. He was done, but she stomped on him anyway, putting her weight on him as she swung her axe up and clocked the recovering One right on the forehead as he tried to get up, rendering him unconscious (and very concussed) before his head hit the ground.

The whole ordeal had taken less than ten seconds.

"Runts. The lot of you." Dulurza spat at one, irritated. Then she got to her feet, and sprinted after her charge.

It didn't take very long to find her.

"Hey, little sister." Growled Borgakh the Steel Heart, sword to the throat of a whimpering Elisif the Fair. "Mind telling me what in the name of Malacath you are doing?"

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

"Ah, yes, the troublemaker." Thonar looked down at Hjar, who (alone out of her compatriots) had not taken a step back at the sight of their much more armed and armoured foes. This left her stood feeling pretty exposed, actually, but she'd be damned before she backed down with this audience. So she just said "Yep, that me."

"And as I understand it, this is something of a reunion." Thonar clapped his hands together, gesturing to the others beside him. "Logrolf, you've left quite an impression on. He promised me Markarth if I only gave him you in return. I'd say he's more than fulfilled his end of the bargain so far."

Logrolf chuckled to himself, and Thonar continued, moving his arm to point at the next woman along. "Ah, Urzoga, you are deserving of a raise, my dear. I was worried when Logrolf started talking to you, but I'm glad those fears were unfounded. I didn't know you could _act_."

Hjar glared at the Orc. "You lied about being a Forsworn."

"And you _believed_ me." Urzoga laughed. "I have no idea how that worked! Were you desperate, or just dumb?"

"That...is a good question." Hjar, despite being absolutely furious, was able to admit when her mind had let her down. "I'd like to say it was the latter; it felt _wrong_, I just didn't have any...oh, now I remember." Hjar narrowed her eyes. "You never mentioned that Madanach and I were related. If he'd wanted to prove it to me, that'd be the first thing he'd have you say."

"You two are related?" Urzoga blinked, before laughing again.

"Sloppy..." muttered Madanach, from Hjar's right shoulder.

"Oh, shut up. You're the one who sent two traitor guards to help stop _six_ from trying to kill me." She hissed back.

"How was I to know-"

"And finally!" Thonar cut across them. He slapped a palm down on the shoulder of the person directly by his side. "My wonderful guest of the last week. Margret, anything to say?"

Margret had spent almost a full minute alternating between staring right at Hjar and staring blankly into space. Eventually she refocused on Hjar, opened her mouth, and said "...You're a Forsworn."

"...Yeah." Hjar replied.

"You've been a...since we..."

"Mmhmm."

"...I am a _terrible_ spy!" Margret shouted it at the ceiling, and Hjar couldn't help but snicker. "Oh, Divines it was so _obvious_. With the 'family' talk, then you literally went after the Forsworn, and then all the talk about Hircine, and the way you dress, and the way you _forgot_ to dress, I-This is embarrassing. Please, we can't ever tell my superiors about this. I'll never live it down."

"Noted." Hjar looked back at Thonar. "Any more introductions? Got my presumed-dead dad squirrelled away back there? Or are you going to stop grandstanding and get down to business?"

"Hah! Very well." Thonar crossed his arms. "Logrolf assures me you're a threat. I'm inclined to believe him. So I'd like you to surrender right now, or we'll kill the pretty girl."

He gestured, and Urzoga pulled up her sword closer to Margret's throat, meriting a hiss. "You're damsel-in-distress-ing me?" The redhead was able to gurgle. "I'm being _damseled_? Oh, this just keeps making me look worse and worse..."

Inside, Hjar was panicking. _You son of a Falmer-groping, milk drinking, dog-snogging fetcher! You die first!_ Outside, she raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Behind her, Madanach let out a bark of laughter. "Hah! You're trying to hold an Imperial spy hostage against the Forsworn? Are you desperate, or just dumb?" He repeated Urgoza's words back at them, unaware of Hjar's profanity-based internal monologue. "My granddaughter might have taken a liking to the girl, but she'd never betray her brethren for her. Do as you wish."

"And, you know." Hjar added, crossing her arms to match Thonar's indifference. "If I _do_ surrender, there's nothing to stop you killing me and then her. As a matter of fact, it would be stupid to do anything else. So no."

"Oh really?" Thonar glanced at Urzoga, who brought the blade tighter to Margret's neck, drawing blood.

Margret started breathing shallowly, flexing her arms in her restraints, while Hjar tried to stop her hands from tightening into fists or her wolf form tearing free. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, but her opponents must be too far away to see it.

_If he murders her in front of us to no reaction, it'll look bad_. That was what she was banking on. _Margret's an Imperial agent, Markarth technically works for the Empire, if he murders an ally in cold blood the guards might frown on that. If he doesn't think we'll care, he logically would be taking less of a risk if he didn't kill her..._Of course, this was all just subtitled beneath the big and glaring _There's Literally Nothing I Can Do_.

Thonar seemed to be having the same ideas, causing a glimmer of hope to appear in her heart. His eyes flickered back towards his men, and his posture became tenser as the seconds passed.

Hjar began to think she might actually get away with it...

Until Logrolf (who had been staring at her face the whole time) suddenly grinned, walked over, and whispered something in Thonar's ear.

Thonar paused, and then chuckled. "Oh, how devious. My advisor here makes a good point! It's hardly a fair test of your motives under these circumstances, is it?" He glanced over to Urzoga. "Let her go."

_...Oh, for f-_

Urzoga looked confused, but did so, and Thonar stepped up behind Margret and gave her a mighty shove, sending her stumbling down the steps to the entrance. She tripped partway down, and with her hands bound she ended up crashing roughly and rolling the rest of the way.

Hjar couldn't help but flinch forwards, barely stopping herself running to help the woman.

"Let's see what kind of people you are!" Thonar called out. "She's yours now. An enemy, but a helpless one. Are the Forsworn barbarians, or can you be civilised?"

_No. No no no, Logrolf must have fed him the word 'civilised'-_

"We want no part of any civilisation ran by slavers, thieves and profiteers!" Madanach shouted, the final nail in the coffin. "A poor choice! If you had unbound her, she might have helped you." He turned to Hjar. "It seems they doubt your resolve, granddaughter. Time to show these people where your loyalty truly lies."

Hjar stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded, and turned.

She was trapped. Logrolf had played her like a damn fiddle. _He's a madman. He got his own Jarl killed, just to advance his own goals, and now...If I kill Margret, the Forsworn only look more like monsters, and the guards come down and butcher us. But he doesn't think I will. And if I don't, my own people turn on me. Damn him! He's thirty feet away but he has me by the throat._

She walked slowly, then knelt down beside Margret, who had managed to pull herself up to her knees.

"Hey." She said, quietly. "Sorry about all this. I should have been smarter, maybe it wouldn't have come this far."

"S'fine." Margret looked up at her, wincing, and smiled. "If I'd've been smarter, I wouldn't have got caught. Logrolf, he knew you'd come after me." She glanced away, then back up to Hjar's eyes. "So, if you're a Forsworn...then you're my enemy."

"Mmhmm." Hjar admitted, looking to the floor.

Margret nodded, and took in a shaky breath. "So then why did you save me? Why did you help me? Why...when you killed Nepos, why didn't I die?"

Wasn't _that_ the question of the hour. "At first, in the marketplace, I didn't know what was going on. I was just helping someone in need." Hjar admitted. "Then I thought you were useful, and then, I..." she sighed. "I thought you had pretty hair."

Margret stared at her. Then broke down giggling. "Pretty hair?"

"I like the red, okay? And the waviness. And it's so smooth, how do you get it so smooth?" Hjar was blushing, and Margret had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud.

Then someone somewhere coughed, and they both winced.

"In that case." Margret met Hjar's eyes. "What are you going to do now?"

Hjar breathed out. "I'm going to do the right thing."

The question then became: what _was_ the right thing to do?

Hjar stood up, and began thinking.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

The Augur had said that the Staff of Magnus would let one see through the wizard-god's eye without being blinded.

The Staff itself certainly helped one see. It was a tool of both observation and manipulation, magnifying glass and surgical knife all in one. It connected Xander to whatever he aimed it at, and allowed him to view it's workings. Be it a mere bank of cells like those within a mage, the defensive structure of a ward, or the twisted, entangled _wrongness_ of an anomaly. (Those things were nasty, by the way. The reason they'd been discharged by the Eye was because they were such a messed up jumble of magicka it had had to purge them for its own safety.)

This was why so many theorised that the Staff was somehow intelligent, consciously abandoning those wielders who grew too powerful, and why those wielders seemed to grow in magical knowledge so quickly.

But looking at the Eye itself...

Alexander could not comprehend it. Literally. He physically _could not_ understand it, because he wasn't an Et'Arda level consciousness. His puny mortal concepts of time and space, cause and effect, could not stretch to fit the vastness and complexity of what was inside.

But while a flat painting would not be able to understand it's painter's three dimensional glory, it might be able to comprehend the painter's shadow on the wall. What Xander _did_ know was...

_The Aetherius._

_Sweet Merciful Divines, it's a portal to the Aetherius._

Home of the Magna-Ge, final home of all uncorrupted souls, font of all magicka, the place only accessible to mortals through death or achievement of Chim. The only other portals to the Aetherius were the sun and stars, estimated by different scholars as anywhere from one to one thousand to one million planetary radii away. But this one was in the mortal plane, and it was sitting in the College's lecture hall.

_I think I know now why the early Nords hid this under Saarthal..._

But Xander didn't need to understand the Aetherius to use it. He had a star, gift wrapped for ease of delivery, and a drinking straw poking through a hole in the wrapping paper.

_Magic please?_

Magic was given.

He lit up a fireball in his hand and threw it.

It crashed into Ancano's face, making him stumble, but did no visible damage to him. Neither did the blast of chain lightning, nor the ice storm that followed it. Ancano scowled, generating a blue ball of energy in hands and launching a storm of magical something.

Xander put his hand out, and summoned a ward. What had until now been all but impossible was just a matter of whim. He made the shield grow to an enormous size as the energy crashed into him and billowed out to either side of him.

"UNLIMITED-" He declared, switching the ward out for electricity-

* * *

"POOOWEEEEEEER!"

The masters, stood in the courtyard, stared with mouths agape as the doors to the Hall of Elements were blown open. A deafening crackling sound filled the air, accompanied by a booming voice from inside, as the walls lit up with masses of electricity, purple lightning jumping through all the windows and vanishing into the night.

"Incredible..." Breathed Drevis.

"The magnitude of power on display..." Exclaimed Faralda.

"Even wielding the staff, this is..." Sergius muttered.

"Xander simply _cannot be_ an ordinary apprentice..." Phinis summarised.

"And the Archmage knew the whole time..." Colette gasped.

"But if not an apprentice, then...what is he?" Tolfdir wondered.

"Everyone focus!" Mirabelle shouted, eyes on the motes of light that were escaping from the hall. "Xander was right! More anomalies, coming this way!"

Outside, the masters held the line. Inside, the two titans clashed again.

* * *

Xander reached his hand out and tugged, casting the telekinesis spell but on a scale he'd only ever dreamed of.

Whatever ward Ancano had summoned around himself absorbed energy, but couldn't do anything for simple momentum; he was swept up off his feet and dragged forwards to Xander's waiting palm. Jumping up, Xander grabbed the Mer around the face, blasted it with as many volts as he could channel, and then slammed him into the floor.

_I've always wanted to do that-OH GODS-_

An explosion of energy sent him flying up into the air. Ancano (unharmed) grabbed Xander's leg, spun, and threw him across the room, sending him crashing into a pillar.

The pain was indescribable. So he healed it. Golden light pulsed through his off-hand, revitalising exhausted cells, healing torn muscle and broken bone. He stumbled back to his feet, and just barely was able to raise a ward in time to block Ancano's next assault.

His right arm never left the Staff of Magnus, and it's beam never left the Eye.

Above them, dozens of anomalies swirled in erratic, eddying circles. The Eye was practically falling apart, segments splitting and hovering to vent energy from inside, revealing a blue light that almost blinded Xander when he looked straight at it. Not to mention he was sweating buckets; the temperature in the room had skyrocketed and Xander genuinely thought he was getting a sunburn.

_I need to end this now._

He focused on Ancano and narrowed his eyes.

The mage's connection to the Eye was novice, halting, primitive and inefficient. But he'd had long hours to master using it. The invincible shield (reminiscent of the first Draugr guarding the Eye) was proof of that, as was the fact that he had both hands free to fight with, letting his 'cord' attach automatically to his body somewhere at his chest.

_Need to separate him from the Eye, but how? Use the staff on him instead?_

Xander had no better ideas, so he tried it.

The moment he broke contact with the eye, every anomaly in the room instantly turned and started flying towards him, and his eyes widened as a storm of white-blue converged on his position. _They're not just excess corrupt energy, they're programmed to try and hunt down what's causing it distress. Every outside magicka signal is a target for them, no wonder they keep attacking people!_ He turned and found his next target quickly, and his staff's beam cut through Ancano's next attack and took the Elf in the stomach, eliciting a howl of rage. The moment it did so, the anomalies instantly lost interest, breaking around Xander and scattering across the room again in..._Flocks? Schools? Murders? Let's go with murders._

"YOU PARASITE!" Ancano howled, which seemed a bit hypocritical. "YOU DARE TO STEAL WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE?"

Xander stole Ancano's magic as it entered his body, yes. But Ancano responded by drawing on even more magicka from the Eye. The stream of lightning connecting him to it intensified, almost doubling in width and height, and Xander winced as actual cracks started to appear in the artefact's surface.

"You dismissed me! The Archmage dismissed me! Everyone always has! BUT NO MORE!" Ancano screamed, clearly having lost the plot entirely. He stretched his arms outwards, and blasts of magical power tore out, turning in midair and homing in on Xander.

_Oh bugger._

He created another ward, realised too late that they were coming from above, the sides, behind, and switched to just buffing himself up with as strong a flesh spell as he could before the bombardment hit him.

The force of the attack was muffled, but each one still hurt like a kick from a horse. He was shoved in all directions, finally losing his grip on the staff entirely and crashing to the floor, groaning. A chittering noise became more pronounced, as once again the murder of anomalies began to swarm towards him.

He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears, and looked up. Ahead, Ancano, eyes burning with rage. Behind him, the staff clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop. Behind that, the Eye, minutes from collapsing. Above it all, a torrent of white crashing down towards him.

He breathed in.

_I get it, Ancano. I really do._

"**FEIM!**" The wave of anomalies hit him, and passed through. With the last of his strength, he forced himself back up to his feet and started running.

_You want recognition. You want power. You want people to quake as they pass you, to be helpless before your knowledge and might. I know what it's like; I want it too._

Ancano fired another blast of magic, and once again it passed right through Xander, who charged straight for the Mer with determination in his eyes.

_Issue is, there need to be people. There'll be nobody to cower in fear and adoration if you've _killed _them all._

Ancano stumbled backwards, eyes wide, as Xander reached out for him-

And then passed through.

_But I'm not going to pretend this is for any kind of ideological reason. I'm here because of one simple thing._

He emerged out from the other side, spun around, and stuck his foot out, hooking it beneath the Staff of Magnus.

"You tried to kill my friends." He snarled. He kicked the staff up, and caught it in his hand as the etherealness relented.

The lightning from the Eye struck him in the back, and indescribable pain rushed through his body. Broken, unbalanced magicka flowing into him. But now he had intercepted the flow, Ancano was cut off.

"And now..." He grit out, glaring as his body shook. "You're going to die."

Ancano, for the first time in the fight, just shut up.

Then the anomalies fell on him from all sides, and he was engulfed in white.

Xander didn't waste time trying to confirm the kill. He just turned around to the Eye with the staff and reattached to it, energy entering through his chest and leaving again through his arm.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to stop a planar level crisis."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjar's mother had taught her a very useful phrase, once. 'If the sky is blue, I want to believe the sky is blue. If the sky is not blue, I want to believe the sky is not blue'. It sounded a bit silly, but it's meaning was obvious. It was a reminder that trying to make herself believe things that _weren't_ true would only cause her more problems.

_So. What is true?_

_Thonar Silver-Blood is a bad person._

That was an easy one. He was a slaver, a greedy man who cared nothing for human life beyond what he could take from it, who cared nothing for his city except that it was where he happened to own property. And he had tried to kill Margret.

_Thonar is guilty. He deserves to die._

_Okay, what else?_

_Fact: Bretons used to live in the Reach. So did the Nords. Bretons used to own the Reach, but based on some stories of Man's arrival in Tamriel that might not always have been true._

_Fact: Shortly before my birth, the Bretons of the Reach launched an attack on Markarth, believing they were entitled to it. Many Nords came to hate them for this._

_Fact: Igmund hired Ulfric Stormcloak and his militia to retake the city for Skyrim, as the Empire (which Skyrim was a part of) was too busy with a war. During this retaking, many Reachmen and innocent Bretons were killed. Igmund later reneged on that promise and was reabsorbed by the Empire._

_Fact: Since then, Igmund and the Silver-Bloods have enslaved or murdered any and all Forsworn (or suspected Forsworn conspirators) with no respect for due process, while also allowing Madanach to control them from within the mine._

_Fact: During this time, Forsworn camps outside the walls have persisted in the face of persecution by the nation's forces. They have also behaved as violent criminals, attacking debatably innocent people._

_Fact: The most widely accepted reasoning for the Forsworn attacks is that they believe that they are entitled to ownership of the Reach, and that their targets are all impediments to this cause._

_Fact: Nords and Bretons can both trace lineages until the end of living memory within the Reach. Those who identify as 'Reachmen' or 'citizens of Skyrim' are not necessarily drawn on racial lines, but cultural ones._

_Fact: Neither side can realistically claim that their culture deserves dominion over the region for any reason other than ability to enforce this dominion._

_Fact: Members of both sides, particularly their orchestrators, are therefore responsible for reprehensible acts without a justifiable goal._

_Conclusion:.._

Hjar didn't want to think it. She'd been trying not to think it for weeks now, shying away from the idea. But if she wanted, at this critical moment, to be _correct_...she had make herself admit it.

_Conclusion: The Forsworn as they exist today are in the wrong._

_Result:..?_

Hjar drew her mace.

"I am Hjarnagredda of the Reach." She declared. "Daughter of Greta, granddaughter of Madanach. Champion of Molag Bal. Devotee of Hircine.

And I judge all of you guilty."

Then she spun on the spot, swinging her mace around with all the strength she could muster.

Madanach didn't even have time to react. The mace crunched into the side of his head. Hjar felt his skull cave inwards as he went flying off his feet from the force of the swing. Death was immediate. _Goodbye, grandfather._

She completed the full circle swing, turning back to a shocked Margret as everyone else was still too surprised to respond.

She grabbed her arms, leaned in, and said "But not you, sweetie, you're doing great." She dragged the mace down, ripping through the bindings on Margret's wrists, and then-

_Oh, why not._

Hjar dropped the mace, grabbed Margret round the back of the head, and kissed her full on the lips.

It was fast, it was passionate, it was needy, and it was the best damn thing Hjar had ever felt.

Still, she let herself enjoy it for barely a second, just long enough for Margret to get over her shock. She knew when Margret did so because suddenly, the redhead started kissing _back_.

_YES!_

She didn't know if the wolf was howling or it was just her. Either way if she didn't stop it right that second she wouldn't ever be able to, so she pulled away, releasing Margret and sprinting past her, straight up towards Thonar. He and Urzoga both looked in complete disarray from what they'd just witnessed, but Logrolf was grinning like all was going to plan, backing up behind the hired muscle.

_You may have outsmarted me, Logrolf. But I know something you don't know._

Hjar reached within herself. For the first time in weeks, she didn't just release the wolf because she had to. She _invited_ it out. And it was more than happy to oblige.

Her tattered and drenched clothes fell to the floor. Her bones shifted, clicked, repaired themselves and enlarged. Torn muscle healed, grew, sprouted fur. The hair she could never control fell into a magnificent mane down her back.

She howled, dropped to all fours, and kept sprinting.

"WEREWOLF!"

There was only a moment to savour the expressions on her enemies faces before she fell upon Thonar, beating him to the floor.

_I told you you would die first._

That was the last coherent thought she had.

Her claws tore into his head until there wasn't a head there anymore, just a painting of blood and bone along two square yards of floor.

She didn't waste another moment, bounding back up to two feet and searching for her other target. Urzoga raised a weapon and Hjar batted her away with one arm, sending her flying, then charged straight for Logrolf.

Two more guards tried to get in her way and she dealt with them just as casually, simply moving them away so she could continue her charge for the desperately fleeing Logrolf. He was two metres from the door when her claw sank into his upper left arm. He screamed, and she ripped, tearing the entire limb into ribbons.

A warhammer slammed into her head, then another, then swords and axes started stabbing and swinging at her.

The simple steel could hardly penetrate her fur, let alone her flesh, but they were desperate and more than six of them could take a swing at her at any given moment. The sheer momentum they imparted was enough to bear her down to the floor. She snarled, swung a claw, batted some of the weapons away, but more attacks kept coming, bludgeoning her head until it started ringing.

She roared, trying to get her feet under her, it was only so long before one of them hit her eye-

There was a flash.

Margret darted in front of her with a snarl on her face and a dagger in her hands. She looked down at Hjar, and grinned. The guards weren't prepared for her, she slit three of their throats before one swung at her with a sword and forced her to back away. But by that point, Hjar had gotten up again, and turned her sights simply on whoever was closest to her.

A moment later, the mass of guards starting to surround her suddenly buckled. The Forsworn had finished chasing Hjar up the stairs, and now crashed into their oppressors, blasting them with magic or swinging at them with whatever weapons could be found in a mine.

Maybe they somehow thought Hjar was still on their side. Maybe they doubted that the guards and mercenaries would let them escape (or help slay the monster) without attacking them. Maybe they simply hated their oppressors so much that a rational course of action didn't occur to them.

It didn't matter to Hjar. The two sides tore into each other, and she tore into them both, indiscriminately.

After that, it was nothing but a bloodbath.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"Dulurza?" Elisif gasped, eyes wide and darting about. "What's going on?"

"Let her go, Borgakh." Dulurza warned. "You don't want to do this." She stopped about ten feet from the pair of them, and started slowly circling left.

"That's not an answer, sis." Borgakh shot back, through gritted teeth. "Have you gone out of your mind? We had a plan! Is this some kind of elaborate ruse, or what?"

"Dulurza what is she talking about?" Elisif begged, shaking.

"Elisif. Stay calm." Dulurza told her, before moving her gaze higher. "Sister, listen to me. Something's wrong about this. The Thalmor, they-"

"You're bringing up the _Elves_ now?" Borgakh looked genuinely flabbergasted. "Have you-No. You've gone soft, haven't you? You spend a month around the pretty Nord girl and now you can't bring yourself to kill her?"

"Put. Her. Down." Was all Dulurza could think to say. Her heart was pounding, and she kept measuring and remeasuring the distance between them in her head.

"No! You know what, I don't think I will!" Borgakh bared her teeth. "I knew this was a bad idea. I knew they should have sent me!"

"You're jealous?" Dulurza huffed. "Really? Borgakh, I told you, I-"

"This has nothing to do with jealously! It has everything to do with you betraying us!" Borgakh spat, anger in her eyes. "Do you even realise what you've done? You've just turned your back on your whole tribe! Your family! Where's your damn loyalty, Dulurza?"

Dulurza locked eyes with Elisif. "It's right here." She said, simply.

Elisif stared back at her, mouth agape.

"Oh, I cannot believe this." Borgakh groaned. "I literally cannot believe-I am _not_ going to let you ruin everything!"

She tightened her grip on Elisif. "You were sent do Solitude to do one thing, sister. To kill the Jarl of Solitude. And if you're not going to do that-"

"NO!" Dulurza started running-

"Then I WILL!" Borgakh shifted, readying her sword to drag it sideways-

And stopped. Surprise flashed across her face, and she tensed, then started heaving, but the sword still didn't move. Her body was locked in place and Dulurza slid to a stop just in front of them.

Elisif stood in Borgakh's grip, face a rictus of rage. Her arms were free, and dark blue light glowed in her palms. "**You dare to try and kill my host?**" She uttered, eyes flashing with power. Her fingers twitched slightly, and, trembling, Borgakh's arms slowly opened, blade moving away from Elisif's throat and out until both limbs were stretched out to either side.

"**Pathetic, primitive, idiot creature.**" Elisif stepped out from Borgakh's grasp, her posture, speech patterns and movements all very much changed. "**To think an animal like you would dare to lay your hands upon my form without my consent. Do you have even the slightest clue as to the magnitude of forces you meddle with?**" She raised her arms, and Borgakh began to float up into the air.

_Paralysis_. Dulurza recognised, seeing her sister try and fail to speak. _But, how? Elisif isn't a mage!_

_No._ Said a voice in the back of her head. _But the Wolf Queen is_.

"**No, I think not.**" Elisif's head tilted. "**You are just a pawn, little Orc, always have been. Always dancing to the tunes of your betters. It would be childishly easy to make you _mine_...but I think not. You have offended me. So instead I will tear all four limbs from your body and watch you bleed to death.**" She curled her fingers, and then twisted them.

Borgakh's face was released, allowing her to scream, and scream she did. Her arms and legs were stretched out from her body, fingers curling, body shaking with the strain as her joints threatened to break-

"Elisif!" Dulurza shouted. "Stop!"

The Jarl's face turned to hers, a bored expression on its face.

"Please." Dulurza begged. "If you can even hear this. She's my _sister_."

Elisif's face looked at hers for a long moment. Then it sighed, daintily, and flicked it's arms. Borgakh was tossed through the air, crashing into a nearby tree and crumpling to the floor.

Elisif blinked once, then again, and then she swayed where she stood. "**Dul**urza? Wh-what-"

Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Dulurza caught her before she could hit the ground. _Malacath's left testicle...I sure do know how to pick 'em._

"You're-ngh-insane." Borgakh's faltering voice reached Dulurza, and she turned to see her sister struggling to stand.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" The elder demanded. "You're our enemy! Everything you've ever loved, gone! What are you going to do now?"

"...I don't know." Dulurza replied, simply. "But I know that I can't let you hurt her."

Borgakh's jaw snapped shut. She shook, fists clenched, before turning and stumbling away into the forest.

Dulurza couldn't do anything but watch her go.

* * *

***chews popcorn***

**That's two dramatic personal choices made in two chapters, folks, I hope you're keeping count. Hjar's internal monologue there basically sums up my thoughts after _several hours of research over almost a year _on the Forsworn Conspiracy. Ah, Skyrim, you and your 'no impartial narrators' style of worldbuilding. It's what makes conflicts like the Imperial-Stormcloak one so compelling, but it makes it a pain in the ass for my characters. **

**But after long deliberation, Hjar's conclusion is 'just freaking murder everyone'. Let's see how that works out for her. Also, THE KISS! That's two arcs of pining before the romantic payoff, am I doing slow-burn properly yet?**

**Elisif survives a dire situation, but the influence of her little friend is just growing stronger and stronger. Alexander demonstrates once again why intangibility is one of the most broken powers you can have, and Ancano is no more. L'laarzen...gets a lore dump. I _really like _what the sources say the Skeleton Key might be capable of. It's just a shame it's so boring in-game. Then again, the fact that so many players still keep the thing instead of finishing the Nightingale quest is incredibly...poignant, given the morale of the dangers of greed the questline is trying to give off.**

**Next Time: The Arc Finale. Someone needs a wash, someone needs a nap, and someone needs a break.**


	26. Facing the Music

**Facing the Music**

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ**

Hjarnagredda's breath came out in pants, clouds of mist forming before her snout and then dissipating. Her white fur was completely covered in blood, and for perhaps the first time, some of it was probably hers. There had been a lot of smashy and pointy things directed at her after all, some must have gotten through. But there were also a lot of bodies. Many, many bodies. Suffice to say, Hjar wasn't feeling very hungry anymore. But the bloodlust was still there.

She turned to the one person remaining in the room, and stalked threateningly towards them.

This person was also breathing in pants, and was also covered in blood. One of their arms was bent at an odd angle, and their nose was broken.

Still, good eating.

A growl rose in Hjar's throat as she pressed towards them, eyes focusing on their long red hair-

Red hair.

"Hjar?" Said the person, hesitantly. "You still in there? I get that you're probably on a bit of a rush right now, me too, but if we could maybe come down from that..."

Oh, right.

It was a Margret. Margrets were friends, not food.

Hjar blew out a long breath, and let herself shrink. The wolf curled back up in her stomach, and her body returned to its normal proportions. Her fur, bearing in mind it was covered in blood, didn't fall off around her so much as stick to her, leaving her with an icky red coating that preserved at least some of her modesty. She grabbed a clean-ish rag of someone's clothing from somewhere on the floor and rubbed it across her face a few times, cleaning that blood off so she could see.

Then she smiled guiltily at Margret. "So." She said. "There was that one time when I said I'd come back when I knew you could trust me. And I think this sort of proves we're at that point, I mean, that was basically the worst possible scenario for chance of friend-eating and I-"

Margret's lips crashed into hers, and she shut up.

_Oh. Okay, that's...that's good. Glad I wasn't imagining that first one_.

The romance of the moment was ruined somewhat by the fact that all Hjar could really taste was blood, and when Margret's hands released her shoulders they came away sticky and red. But Hjar was still never going to forget it.

"Thank you." Margret breathed. "For saving my life."

"Thank you." Hjar insisted. "For making me into someone who would."

They stared silently at each other for a few seconds.

Then Margret's lip quirked upwards. "Guess we just proved right all the people who called us girlfriends."

"Oh, Hircine, we did..."

They both laughed, and the sound echoed around the now-silent hall.

Eventually, Hjar turned, trying to take in the carnage. "Okay...oh, now I'm human again this is making me a little sick. Who did we get?"

"Madanach and Thonar for certain." Margret replied, walking up beside her. "No idea if Logrolf could have survived the chunk you tore out of him, but I don't see his corpse in here. Urgoza either, for that matter." She glanced sideways. "At least some of both sides fled out the door towards the end."

The brass entryway was hanging open, swinging slightly in the breeze from outside. Bells were ringing in the city, and beyond the walls, the sky could be seen turning from dark to a light blue. A new day was dawning, and it was dawning on chaos.

"So...I was operating largely on idealist grounds in there." Hjar admitted. "And it's only just now occurring to me that I've murdered the leaders of _every major faction in the city_ in one night."

"Yeeeeeeeah..." Margret agreed. "We should...probably not be here much longer."

"Agreed." Hjar turned to face her, and after a moment, held both her hands out. "And I think you once said something about your mission being bust if law and order came crashing down completely, which I think it's fair to say it's probably about to."

"So?" Margret raised an eyebrow.

"So." Hjar gulped. "Considering that I am a naked, blood-splattered, emotionally unstable, newly-allegiance-less werewolf with nothing to my name but debts to two Daedric princes, a debt to a group of murderers, and no functioning self preservation instinct...would you like to run away with me?"

"Hjar." The way Margret's face lit up made the sun look dim. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

"...ander! Alexander!"

Xander was jolted out of his reverie by the voice, and shook his head to try and clear the dancing numbers and figures from his eyes. It was difficult to keep his arms aloft, which was bad because that was what was keeping the staff pointing at its target. He turned away from the Eye of Magnus, which was slowly beginning to calm down, and squinted though the spots in his vision at the people gathered behind him. They weren't the masters, at some point the door outside had slammed shut. No, gathered in the room was a quartet of elves in pale yellow robes. Psijic monks.

"Oh, hey, Quaranir!" He shouted over the din the Eye was still making. "Good to see you! Just give me a few minutes here-"

"Congratulations, mage." Quaranir continued, apparently content to ignore him. "You have succeeded, as we knew you would. However, the Eye has grown unstable."

"Uh, yeah? Duh?" Xander turned back to it and went back to his business. "I'm trying to fix it!"

"You're-" Quaranir blanched. "What? No, don't do that! Let the Psijic Order take care of it, otherwise it risks-"

"Oh, no you don't!" Xander shot back. "Have you seen this thing? I'm not trusting you lot with it until I've got it under control!"

"I'm sorry, 'us lot'?" Quaranir looked genuinely offended. "The Psijjc Order has stood for centuries! Our wisdom in matters of the arcane is unparalleled!"

"Oh yeah? Well I've been staring into the heart of the Aetherius for hours now!" Xander retorted. "Frankly I think I have you beat!"

Quaranir put a hand to his forehead. "It's been two and a half minutes, Xander." He sighed.

"Oh." Had it really? He'd been so caught up in the connections, in the physics, in the energy, the concept of time had flown right out the window. With the amount of calculations he'd had the Staff doing, all running through his head as they were completed, he wouldn't have been surprised to find days had passed. "Well then you can wait another thirty seconds for me to finish here!"

"He does have a point." One of the other Psijics piped up.

"Really, Nerien?" Quaranir turned to him. "Right now?"

"I'm just saying, the boy may as well have read an Elder Scroll for all the eldritch goodies that'll be running through his head."

One of the others piped up with "Oh, I bet an hour of stargazing that he goes crazy!"

"I'll take that bet!" Called the final one.

"Tandil, Gelebros, shut it." Quaranir snapped. "Come on, guys, we're Psijics. Can we at least act like it?"

While they had been talking, Xander had been finishing his stabilising touches. He staggered backwards as the shell of the Eye finally clicked completely shut, the deafening hum it emitted quieting down as its spin slowed to a normal level.

Xander dabbed at his forehead (drenched with sweat) with his robe, before turning to give a dashing and exhausted smile to the Psijics. "Done. Crisis averted. Phew! Now what?"

"Now, we take it off your hands." Quaranir replied, crossing his arms. "The world gains access to the Eye and a month later it almost destroys Mundus. I think that's fairly solid evidence that Tamriel cannot be trusted with it just yet."

"What?" Xander pouted. "_I_ can be trusted with it. Look how responsible I just was! And I can still learn so much from it, not to mention I'm sure I can be perfectly safe when drawing on it's power-"

"Xander." Quaranir said, softly. "I think there's a lesson to be learned here about chasing after power."

Xander stopped, and looked down in thought.

"...Did he seriously just say that with a straight face?" Stage-whispered Nerien.

"Oh, watch out guys, we've got a philosopher over here." Tandil snorted.

"The guy who nicked the Helm of the Crusader during the sacking of the Imperial City is cautioning against greed." Chuckled Gelebros.

Quaranir actually blushed, pulling his hood down lower. "Guys, please. I am _begging_ you."

Xander laughed, and sat (or more accurately fell) on his backside before the Eye. "Alright, fine. Take it. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to become an all powerful deity _anyway_, I don't need to drive myself crazy chasing magical artefacts to do it." He looked up at them, grinning tiredly. "One question though. What was the deal with your interference? You clearly knew the Eye was in Saarthal. Why didn't you just move it _then_ if you thought it would be a threat? Or warn us directly? Or just, I don't know, stab Ancano?"

"The Psijics have endeavoured not to interfere with the daily goings on of Tamriel. You are to make your own choices and face your own consequences, except in cases when artefacts or beings beyond your reasonable scope turn against you. As for why I appeared..." Quaranir coughed. "I was assigned to watch over the College of Winterhold. In truth, I did not know of the Eye before scouting the area in preparation for your arrival."

"Oh, wow." Xander exclaimed. "So watching this college is like a special sacred mission for you?"

"...No." Quaranir's voice got a lot quieter. "It's a bridge project."

"...Excuse me?" Xander gaped.

"Watch over and report on a largely inconsequential magical college. Document their findings, progress and knowledge for extra credit." Quaranir mumbled. "Artefacts like the Eye should be reported if they get out of hand, they're beyond the scope of the assignment, but-"

"But the big-shot Quaranir wanted to deal with it himself." Nerien cut in.

"Because as cool as he _thinks_ he is, he's still falling behind in his mysticism grades because he keeps irritating the teacher." Tandil finished, smirking.

"I hate all of you..." Quaranir groaned.

Xander threw back his head and laughed. "HAH! Ahahahaha! You're, snck, you're not all-knowing time wizards!" He realised. "You're _apprentices_! You're exactly the same as me!"

"Not at all." Quaranir sighed. "_You've_ become the most powerful person in your college, whereas if _I_ fail to sort this by tomorrow I'll fail the project and there's a decent chance I'll have to retake the decade." He turned to his fellows. "Okay, can we just get this over with? You know I can't teleport it on my own."

"You're still doing our homework for a month?" Nerien asked.

"Yes."

"Then I'm still on board. Alright guys, diamond tetragram formation, you know the drill."

The Psijics spread out, spouting magical jargon that went over Xander's head as they surrounded the Eye. He stepped back, as they raised their arms and began to weave magic around it.

"Do I get to keep the staff?" He called, clutching it tighter.

"It's not my place to decide when the Staff of Magnus abandons it's owner. By all means, keep it." Quaranir replied, turning his head. "Farewell, Alexander. It has been..._enlightening_, working with you."

"Likewise." Xander gave a cheeky grin. "Send me a postcard from Artaeum!"

"Oh I am _quite_ done delivering letters at your request."

"Hah!"

With that, there was one final flash. The Eye of Magnus (and the four Psijics) vanished from the room.

Xander nodded once, and then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|**

"Elisif! Elisif, are you alright?" Dulurza tried to be gentle as she shook her Jarl by the shoulders. "Come on, woman, now is _not the time to fall faint._"

"Hm...ngh..." Elisif's eyes fluttered back open, and none of the cold maliciousness was present there this time. "Dulurza? What...happened..."

"You don't remember?" Dulurza tried to balance Elisif on her feet, leaving herself available as a stable pillar as the woman shakily stood by herself. "When Borgakh grabbed you, you started casting paralysis magic on her. Or...was that all Potema?"

"It...Oh, no. I remember." Elisif put a hand to her forehead, groaning. "Potema's...asleep, I think? Taking over must have really exhausted her. I...Divines, I feel like my insides are on _fire_."

"Spellburn." Dulurza nodded. "That's what the wisewomen call it. Apparently if you push magic too far, your body can break, like torn muscles. Have you ever used magic before?"

"No, never. Well, I know the odd novice spell, but I'm not a mage." Elisif shook her head. "As a child they said I had the aptitude, if I applied myself, but I never had the time."

"Well we don't have the time now." Dulurza took her arm. "My Jarl, we're still not safe here. We need to get you inside the walls, they might be back. In force."

"Yes, you're right. I'm sorry, it's just blurry." Elisif grimaced, and started walking the way Dulurza directed. "I...you said there was an ambush, I started running, and then the Orc woman grabbed me. You came running in and then..." She frowned. "Wait."

"We should really talk about this _later_." Dulurza insisted, through grit teeth.

"No. No, she said you were-" Elisif stopped walking, and resisted when Dulurza tugged on her arm. "What was she talking about? She said you had a plan. She said you were working together, what did she mean?"

"Not now, Elisif-"

"YES NOW!" Elisif shouted, yanking her arm free of Dulurza's grip. "Dulurza...tell me what's happening. I'm _scared._"

_Oh, that's not fair._

Dulurza gulped, and spoke. "She...we...That was my sister. Borgakh. She was planning to ambush you and kill you. I was..."

_Stop being such a coward, Dulurza. You made your bedroll. Lie in it. _"I was supposed to lead you to her." She said, looking to the floor. "I was supposed to land the final blow."

The forest was silent for a long while.

"What?" Elisif stared at her. "You were...you were going to kill me?" She took a step backwards. "Why? Were you being manipulated, did I do something, what-"

"It's _complicated._" Dulurza ground out.

"Well uncomplicate it! What in Talos' name is going on?"

"Fine then!" Dulurza shouted it in frustration (causing Elisif to take yet _another _step backwards), before forcibly calming herself.

"I come from Mor Khazgor." She began, deciding to just lay it all out as quickly as possible. "An Orc tribe in the mountains west of here. The tribe decided it was tired of living under the rule of the Nords, being forced to hide away instead of ruling the land that it deserved. With the war happening, we decided that it was time to strike. To storm and take the city of Solitude."

Elisif just stared at her in shock.

"We knew we couldn't just take the walls in a direct attack." Dulurza continued, flatly. "That's where I came in. I was sent in ahead of time to..." she sucked in a breath. "To infiltrate your court. To serve you, and gain your trust. So that when the time came for the attack, I would be able to find a way to cut you down."

It had been a good plan. A great plan. Challenging, in ways she'd never had to face before, but she had been up for it. Armed with her disgust of her enemies, her trust in her weapon, and her faith in her God and her tribe, she had thought herself prepared.

And then Elisif had said her name. And said she looked _fetching_. And everything had started to fall apart.

"But...why?" Elisif repeated herself, still plainly confused. "Even if you wanted to take the city, what good would my corpse serve?"

"Orcs don't take prisoners." Dulurza grimaced. "Not unless they want a new wife, that is. We hoped that your death would demoralise your forces. That your absence would rob them of leadership. And if I could take you outside, we-" _Malacath, why does this hurt so much- _"We planned to tell them we had you hostage, and wanted to negotiate your return. When your soldiers came to meet us at a location of our choosing, we would move past them and assault the city while it was weakened."

"Oh Gods..." Elisif looked unsteady again, stumbling backwards and leaning on a tree for support. "You were...you were _lying _to me? This entire time, you were just manipulating your way into my trust? Like Sybille?"

"NO! Well, I was deceiving you, but," _Damnit, I still can't just _explain _myself- _"I couldn't do it, Elisif! I still can't! You-" Dulurza started forwards "You just need to trust me-"

"STOP!" Elisif demanded, and Dulurza stopped. No Potema in the sound, the forceful _command _was all her. "_Don't _come any closer. I don't want you within ten paces of me, do you understand?"

"My Jarl..." Dulurza felt a stab of ache in her gut, but didn't try to move any closer. "Elisif, please. I swear to you on everything I've ever cared about, I _will not _hurt you."

"Even _if _I believe you." Elisif raised a hand in warning. "And even if you _truly_ think so, the fact remains that you have been planning my murder for weeks." She took in a shuddering breath; Dulurza saw that there were tears on her cheeks. "We are returning to the Blue Palace. And you will explain _everything, _in detail, so that we can decide what to do." She chuckled. "You got your wish. I'm too reliant on you now to have you imprisoned. But from the moment we reach those walls there will never be a guard out of sight of you, do you understand me?"

Then she turned, and started walking briskly.

_That's it? She's just...no, I can't-_

"I saved your _life_!" Dulurza shouted, desperation in every word.

Elisif paused. "I know." She uttered, not turning back. "That's the only reason I'm not having you killed."

* * *

**8˂**

L'laarzen was almost certain that the gates of Riften hadn't looked so intimidating the last time she'd been there. Maybe it was the looming early morning fog, maybe it was the fact that dozens of people in there wanted her dead. Could be anything, really.

"Are you certain you wish to come along?" She asked Enthir, walking beside her. "You are aware that there is a good chance they will kill us?"

"Oh, I'm aware." The man groused. "Unfortunately, in abandoning the College to save my own skin, I've burned all my bridges there. And now that Macchius knows I'm working with Karliah, so does the guild. My choices are to stick with you or try to escape Mercer's wrath on my own." He glanced across at her. "Take that as some form of faith in you."

L'laarzen smiled brightly, if a little weakly. "Thaaanks..."

The two guards were still at the gate. Possibly (but not definitely) the ones that had tried to scam her when she had first entered. If they were on the guild's payroll, it would certainly make this next bit easier.

At the very least, they recognised her. As she walked cheerily up the path towards them, they glanced at each other, back to her, back to each other, and then put their hands on their sword hilts. "Halt!" One shouted. "You, the cat!"

"Hm?" L'laarzen blinked innocently at them. "Ah, yes. How prompt you guards are!"

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people." One told her, drawing his blade fully. "If you try to resist, you will be cut down!"

"Oh, well, we wouldn't want that." L'laarzen put her hands in the air. "Khajiit surrenders!"

Birds chirped in the distance.

"...Wait. What?" The guards looked at each other again.

"L'laarzen is not going to resist." She smiled. "Go ahead. Arrest her. She's sure this is all a big misunderstanding, so will happily stay in your prison in the meantime."

"I...well. That's good." The guard looked from her to Enthir, who had backed several feet away with wide eyes. "And you?"

"I-I have nothing to do with this!" The Bosmer protested, putting his arms in the air. "I don't even know this lady! I'm here to report to the Jarl, not-not whatever _this_ is!"

"He speaks the truth. This is just a man L'laarzen met on the road here." She smiled over at Enthir, resisting the urge to wink at him. "Apologies, Khajiit should have told you in advance. Now then, shall we..?"

The guards didn't seem to have any more to say.

They were far rougher than L'laarzen thought was necessary. Confiscating and rummaging through her satchel, patting her down for weapons, one holding her at swordpoint as the other went to open the gate. Clearly waiting for any reason to kill her right there. But she didn't intend to give them one, and with Enthir there as a civilian witness (an _important _one, from his words) they couldn't just butcher a surrendering woman without cause. _All according to plan_. Even their more intense ministrations were expected, and utilised. L'laarzen saw a dark grey figure dart through the fog from the treeline, flit up the city wall, and vanish from sight entirely. But the distracted guards were none the wiser, and escorted her into the city proper.

That meant step one was completed.

The members of the Guild would know Enthir, of course. But L'laarzen had bet (correctly) that any instructions relayed by Mercer to the guards in their pocket would only be about her and Karliah. The Guildmaster would _tell _the guards she was to be killed immediately, if possible. In reality, he'd just want L'laarzen to murder some Hold guards in self defence so he could pin a real crime on her and have her _legitimately_ hunted throughout the country. As if she would be foolish enough to let _that_ work. There was a very small period of time wherein his only real option was pulling a knife on her directly, and she intended to make the most of it.

It was business as usual in the city streets. Maul, the Black-Briar's bruiser, saw her on her way in. He gave her a surprised look, she smiled at him, and then he took off at a jog towards his master's manor. _Good doggie._

In the market, her arrival didn't cause too much of a stir. Crime was hardly newsworthy in Riften. But there was one person who took a _lot _of interest in her sudden appearance.

"I kid you not ladies and gentlemen! Aetherium dust! The very material used by the Dwarves to...to, ah..." Brynjolf crashed to a halt in whatever scheme he was trying to pull in the centre of the market, as his eyes locked onto L'laarzen's. She winked at him.

"Ah...Excuse me one second." He dropped what he was holding and rushed over to her.

"Ah, Brynjolf! Once this is resolved, Khajiit must take a look at what you were selling there, it looked-"

"What in _Oblivion _are you playing at?" Brynjolf hissed at her, pushing in close.

"Oi! Back off!" One of the guards gave him a shove, and he stumbled away from her, shock still plain on his face.

"L'laarzen would advise going to inform our mutual friend about this development." She told him, smile not leaving her face. "I imagine he would like to speak to Khajiit, no?"

"Enough! Move it, cat, now!" L'laarzen let the guards pull her away from the stunned thief, fixing her eyes on Mistveil Keep.

_You have made a mistake, Mercer. L'laarzen would have been content to remain entirely out of your business. Yet you brought her to Snow Veil Sanctum. You tried to kill her. You _betrayed _her._

L'laarzen's eyes narrowed just a fraction. _And now you must be destroyed._

With that, she was imprisoned in Riften Jail.

* * *

**̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o**

There was a loud creaking and shuddering noise.

"...nder! Alexander!"

"Oh, not again..." Xander groaned and opened his eyes, taking in the worried face of Mirabelle Ervine as she rushed through the doors to the Hall. "Heeeey, Miss Ervine. Just a thought; do you think maybe letting the Thalmor spy live in the college was a good idea?"

"Are you hurt?" She dropped to her knees next to him, golden light in her hands. "What happened? Where's the Eye? Where's Ancano? What-"

"I'm _fine_." Xander insisted, struggling to sit up. "I stabilised the Eye and then the Psijics took it away for safekeeping. Ancano is..." he looked over to a particularly scorched section of the floor. "Gone? I think some of him went into the Aetherius, some of him went out the window, and we're breathing the rest of him." His head throbbed, and he groaned, closing his eyes. "And I...I have not slept in over two days. Not slept _properly_ in longer. I got an hour's kip at the statue of Azura, then I literally walked to Labyrinthian, fought a dragon priest, walked back and did this without stopping. I need to be dropped in my bed with a big stack of food nearby and just _left alone_ for twenty four hours."

"I'll see what I can do." Mirabelle chuckled, supporting his back. "But first...I think there are some things we still need to sort out."

"Right." He grimaced. "The shield thing, back when this started. Go ahead: ask what you need to ask."

"Alright." She met his eyes. "Your magic. You..."

"Hardly have any of it, yeah." He sighed. "The storm Atronach at the gate was a concealed scroll. Everything else was staves, scrolls, tricks, or other people's help." He swallowed. "I lied to you. You and the College. I'm sorry."

"...I see." She nodded. "Well, I...can't say I'm not hurt. And more than a little annoyed at myself that you were able to get away with it for so long."

He looked away, and she reached out and dragged his head back. "But," she emphasised, "you can't expect me to punish you unduly for it after you saved the entire Hold."

"But I got Savos killed!" Xander protested. "If I hadn't been so pathetic in there, he might have-"

"Been able to stop the newly arisen demigod by himself?" Mirabelle filled in, making him shut his mouth. "I _am_ angry that he died. Savos was a trusted friend, not just my Archmage. But it's _because_ I trusted him that I knew you were the person we needed, when he gave you the Torc. You being there was our salvation, Xander, not our doom."

"I thought you hated me." He murmured, looking down. "I thought...I was going to be cast out again."

"I wasn't trying to throw you out that window, Xander." Mirabelle insisted. "You were my student. I only wanted to help. If you had stayed and explained it to me, I wouldn't have turned you away."

Xander met her gaze again, taking in the genuine smile in her eyes. He sniffed, then rubbed a sleeve across his face. "T-Thank you."

"You're welcome." She stood, and reached a hand out to him. "Now then. We need to explain this to the rest of the masters."

"Explain me?" He asked, taking the hand and letting her pull him to his feet.

"I think that can wait until tomorrow. For now, just the Eye and Ancano will be sufficient." She looked out the door, to where over a dozen robed people were definitely not staring at her, and sighed. "And I suppose I shall have to take over as Archmage now. Wonderful."

"I'll support you, for what it's worth." Xander told her, smiling. "Divines know you're the best option."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'll hate it." She groaned. "But it's what Savos would have wanted. Tolfdir is too old, we can't risk losing two Archmages within a year, and the other masters are too research oriented, no administrative or negotiation skills. And who else is there, _Nirya_?"

"She wishes." Xander snorted. He looked out the door and cracked his neck, trying to override the deep-seated ache in his muscles. "Right then. Suppose it's time for a speech..."

He scooped up the Staff of Magnus from where it lay, and walked out the doors.

Gathered was practically the entire population of the College, all of whom went quiet as he approached.

"Masters!" He called, making sure to look between everyone's faces at reasonable intervals. "Apprentices! The threat is passed!"

There was an outbreak of applause, some of the younger apprentices whooping and cheering.

_Oh, wow, this is new. This feels nice._

"Using the Staff of Magnus, I was able to connect with the Eye!" He continued, simplifying for the sake of the speech. "I bypassed it's defences, disconnected and slew the infiltrator Ancano, and repaired the damage to the artefact! From there, the Psijics arrived to retrieve it! They believed that such dangerous magics should be kept safe from the grasp of ambition and avarice; I agreed, and allowed them to take it to Artaeum for safe keeping. Perhaps, some day, we will prove ourselves worthy of it again."

There were more cheers, and Xander tried to keep his face solemn rather than breaking into the ecstatic grin he felt on the inside._ Oh, I love speeches. Are they normally this easy, or is it just the celebratory mood?_

"I repeat, the danger is over!" He reiterated. "You may return to your rooms, and the citizens of Winterhold may go freely back to their homes! I recognise that you all must desire simply to rest. I, too, could use a tall mug of mead and a warm bed." He allowed himself to smile then, and got the intended chuckle from the audience. "However! There is one thing that must be resolved before we do so." He put a solemn face back on, and continued "I have confirmed that our beloved Archmage, Savos Aren, has passed away. He died bravely restraining Ancano's evil, and were it not for him, I would never have had time to complete my mission. He is unquestionably a hero." There were nods, and mumbled prayers from the crowd. "However. Now that we are safe, we must choose who is to take his place."

Xander had expected them all to start mumbling and looking amongst each other, but they all continued to stare at him expectantly. _Okay... _"Savos' successor must be strong, not only of magical might but of will." He continued. "They must be unafraid to lead, willing to shoulder any burden necessary to protect their College." He looked across to Mirabelle, and smiled at her as she met his eyes. "I believe that there is only one person who fits that description." He turned back to the crowd. "But it is not up to me; it is up to you. Please, take as long as you need."

He took a step back, allowing Mirabelle to be better positioned for everyone's attention, and waited.

_And that's a wrap. The magic may be hard, but this is politics. This is Synod stuff. If I couldn't direct a crowd in my sleep, what kind of Imperial noble would I be?_

"Well." Sergius was the first to speak. "I think we're all in agreement. There is only one choice."

"Indeed." Drevis chuckled. "Thank you for your attempts to be impartial, Alexander, but I don't think such humility is necessary."

Xander smiled, inclining his head, as Tolfdir said "After all. Who better to lead the College than the one who saved it?"

"...I'm sorry what?" Xander blinked.

"The magic you demonstrated in that battle was simply extraordinary." Faralda gushed. "Not just the power, that I could attribute to the Eye, but the speed and precision with which you used it! I knew there was something special about you from the moment you approached the bridge."

"And your leadership!" Colette chimed in. "The way you appeared from the storm and rallied the entire city! Your sheer presence was awe inspiring!"

"Not to mention, I can see the diadem of the savant on your arm." Phinis gestured to it. "That means that you have already traversed Shalidor's maze. We can skip the unnecessary pomp, in that case."

"Now hold on a minute-" Mirabelle tried to interject. 'Tried'. By that point, the volume of the crowd had risen considerably, and she was drowned out.

"Of course he is to be Archmage! The only one who's talent matches J'zargo's own is the only one worthy of running this academy!" J'zargo crowed.

"And he's a natural teacher! He helped me so much with my spellwork in just a few minutes!" Added Brelyna.

The crowd began clapping, roaring their approval.

"He was obviously never a regular apprentice-"

"He's a hero, that's what he is!"

"Saved all our lives!"

"I mean I thought he was talking about Ms Ervine at first but yeah this makes way more sense!"

"Long live the College of Winterhold!"

"Long live Archmage Meteuse!"

Tolfdir walked up and clasped Xander's slack hands. "Congratulations, my boy." He said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm so proud to have had a chance to teach such an exceptional student. I look forward to seeing where you take us."

He shook Xander's hand thoroughly, then walked across to speak to Mirabelle.

Xander just stood there, slack jawed. He looked down to his hand. Up at the crowd. Down, then up again.

He licked his lips, and then ever so quietly whispered:

"...what?"

* * *

**AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**

**And so, the second act of this story comes to a close.**

**Alexander accomplishes the same feat as a large majority of Skyrim players: Becoming the Archmage of the College of Winterhold...with barely any actual magic. In the game, it's something of a joke. Here, it's...well it's entirely a joke. Don't worry Xander, being entirely unqualified for the position doesn't stop _loads _of people in our world.**

**Hjar escapes Makarth. Got a waifu, come to some realisations, and has also set the entire city on fire. But she still has her date with the Dark Brotherhood, and while she may be able to overcome the bloodlust of Hircine's Ring, it's still a massive pain in the ass. **

**L'laarzen is in jail. What is it with my characters and willingly putting themselves in prison?**

**And poor, poor Dulurza. How did you expect it to go when your Jarl finally learns you've been reluctantly scheming against her for weeks? The truth is out, and now it's up to the players to try and pick up the pieces.**

**I hope you have all enjoyed what has been put out so far. And now we reach the part everyone hates to hear: The break.**

**I've already begun working on Act III, but I'm still not entirely sure about what's going to happen and when. I need time to put it all together in my brain, and build up a backlog to defend against my incorrigibly inconsistent inspiration. **

**That said, I _promise _you, you won't be waiting a full season or more for this to resume. I want to shakily predict something like...start of October? Probably? This is less a definite date and more a cross on the calendar to force me to get my arse in gear. As lockdown dwindles and I go back to my responsibilities, my productivity is gonna drop, so I need to bulwark against that somewhat.**

**In any case, it's been good fun so far. I'll see y'all when I see y'all. May your feet bring you warm sands!**


End file.
